13th or 14th blogiversary😎

2001-2002
It all started as a place to post my US college papers and whatever came about in the English language to keep up my writing skills. Back in 2000s, little did I know about paid webblogs. I was not familiar with the idea of sharing credit card info on the website just to maintain a virtual diary. Back in those days there were no laptops at home. I had no home per se. Hubby and I lived in the back of a language school and blogging was too strange for me. I had MySpace though and an Orkut profile. Messaging through MSN was  the most natural and the coolest thing to do at that moment.

2003-2005
George Orwell, Leszek Kolakowski, Voltaire, Baruch Spinoza, Thomas Paine, Thomas Jefferson, George Eliot, Leon Trotsky, Rosa Luxemburg, John Stuart Mill, Joseph Heller, Richard Dawkins, Daniel Dennett, Sam Harris, Noam Chomsky, Gore Vidal, Edward Said, Salman Rushdie, Vladimir Nabokov, Richard Llewellyn, Aldous Huxley, PG Wodehouse, Evelyn Waugh, Richard Hofstadter, Paul Mark Scott, James Joyce, Albert Camus, Oscar Wilde, Conor Cruise O'Brien, Martin Amis, Kingsley Amis, James Fenton, Jessica Mitford, Ian McEwan, Colm Tóibín, Bertrand Russell, Wilfred Owen, Israel Shahak, Isaiah Berlin, W. H. Auden, Susan Sontag
Through the influence of thinkers, emotional turmoils, and a strong desire to get a poetry book published , I started writing like a freak. I'd carry notepads and pens everywhere I went. I got two or three digital cameras, got laptops and stablishing this blog seemed the only way out for depression, overwhelmed thoughts, and body pain. We were still living in the back of the school, but at least I had cable TV. It is a crazy thought looking back and knowing that we survived weekends and holidays without Netflix or YouTubers. Yeah. True. Youtube was a real then, but YouTube users had not figure out their potential to turn their pages into channels, with shows, edited, with promos, sponsors, and fans. If I only knew...

2007-2012

We bought our condo. We quit drinking, eating red and white meat. Years later we would become vegan and libertarian. WiFi was playing a major role in our lives. Wireless printers, wireless everything. Smartphones and  tablets were the cherry on top of these years. We traveled abrod three times, another unlikely thing that happened. We were in the midst of heaven surrounded by demons. Evil took over my unconscious and I truly believed I was insane. This blogspot was my safety harbor, my lighthouse, my anchor, whatever metaphor related to sailors... I was lost in tormented deep sea waters with lightings and stormy skies. I went after professional help: psychologists, numerologists, astrologists, psychiatrists, religion... Where, where? College. I started taking psychology and had we not had national financial crisis, I could've graduated. Love learning all about deep issues on human brains and their consequences and built-up mental disorders.

2013 - 2017

5 semesters have passed and I became a college drop-out, neither a proud nor a shameful one, however dropping out of college was a reasonable decision to make. After getting married in Vegas and taking students to train English in Dublin and in Florida, we began taking baby steps to the end of the rope. Crisis, unnemployment,  high crime rates, lack of hope, and so many negativity took over Brazilians and the only thing left to do was to shut down our school and make a 180° degree move: going back home was the best solution. We moved back to São  Paulo due to my sister moving and leaving one of our family's business... That would be the end of 20 years of family strength and dedication. On March 3rd 2018 will be 2 years we are back in São Paulo state. I don't wanna seem shallow or infantile or even nonsense, but coming back home was one of the worst and the best restarts in my life. Here, I have being doing more things that I would not have probably done, had I stayed in the south: I founded a magazine, I teach high schoolers and preschoolers as well, here I have gotten pregnant and have miscarriage... I have got a car accident. I have got my own drum kit and bass guitar. I have changed my hair color 19 times in less than two years. I've broken my nose by falling from bed. Hubby has got free diabetis treatment. Unthinkable and unsinkable things have touched us and it is true... almost none of these things are being registered in this blogsphere. I have neglected my blog. I wish I had more time for it.
Happy 13th/14th.

I cross my heart that I will take better care of My Pawnshop.

The 19th Wedding Anniversary

Roberto and I have been together since I was 15 and he was 16. We have lived together, under the same ceiling for 19 years. We are both in our early 40's but we do feel we had met before. We are both Spiritsts which means we are Christians who believe in reincarnation, and that there is a purpose on being on this planet. Life is temporary however our souls never die. I know it may sound strange and even awkward but I cannot convey materialistic views. Humans and animals are inhabitants to live in harmony and bind in kindness and togetherness. It looks us years to fully believe and practice veganism, an alcohol free lifestyle and exercise more. Little actions can turn into enormous actions if they are played with love. I literally love my job, my home, my cats, my family, my writings, music, poetry, and my hubby. Roberto has supported me at all my dark moments. I miscarriage to this year. Among all the crap I had to take in 2017, this was the harshest. We even had a car accident in Santa Catarina state... It didn't beat the miscarriage. I got my set of drums (finally). We are having a real Halloween party at our school (finally again). We have air conditioned our home (that is a plus plus). I am sure I am leaving behind my best accomplishments...but hey, it has been 19 years and 3 UFCS of pure love. Happy Anniversary to us.

Is it the end of it all?

A bit of imagination

I can’t push the knife in

I can’t make the cut

I can’t turn the wheel

I can’t step off the kerb

I can’t take the pills

All I can do is imagine

I picture the knife going in

I imagine the lorry hitting

I see the wall racing towards me

I dream of drifting away

Escaping the  empty days

Not enduring the lonely nights

Not having to deal with this

Or cope with them

Or struggle with that

No more thinking

No more worry

No more envy

No more hating myself

No more anger

But there’s no coming back.

By Sudhakar Patel

October 15th - Brazilian Teachers' Day

PS: happy birthday to you who celebrate birthday on the 15th too.

from some time ago... from a certain job

I get it.

I had a student hurt my feelings last week. Words that cut deep and wounded because there is always an element of truth perceived by the one being sarcastic.

And I’ve been icing my bruises all afternoon.

The school year is winding down, and I’m tired. I know you’re tired, too. Exhaustion is seeping in. We’re wondering if we’re going to end better than we began, or if our students will be dragging our limp bodies across the finish line.

My seniors may have three weeks left, but they checked out a month ago. Some days I wonder why I even bother to have a lesson. I could just assign a reading passage and the questions to answer from the end for the next fifteen school days.

There are teachers out there who do that…

I understand why.

I spend days and weeks begging and pleading, attempting to try anything that might, just might, get my students to read the books I assign.

I craft lessons and talk about stories and show video clips in every attempt to get my teens to think outside of themselves—to see the world and its nuances. Then I spend lunch wiping the tears of the one bullied and outcast.

I stay up to grade essays and comment on ways to improve their writing. Hours spent away from my family only to wonder if it makes any sort of difference when I see those same essays in the trash.

So by this time of year, I’m ready to call it quits. Every year wondering if I can do it again.

I know you understand. I know you feel the same. I know you have nights you wonder why you chose this profession, this teaching, this pouring out of your life into hearts day after day after day.

But really? You didn’t choose teaching.

It chose you.

For me, college was spent denying the very thought of teaching. It was only a far-in-the-background safety net if the writing thing didn’t work out.

The only job I could get right out of college?

Yep. Teaching.

By Christmas that first year I said never again.

I’ve been teaching thirteen of the last seventeen years, and now there’s no other job I’d enjoy more. _{(Unless being a travel writer for Condé Nast was an option…Are they hiring? Tahiti sounds like heaven right now.)}

It is my calling. It is my purpose.

But here’s the thing about calling. God doesn’t call us to the easy. He invites us to the hard. The get-your-hands-dirty difficult. We are not promised perfect just because we are fulfilling our life’s purpose.

Because that kid with the bitter sarcasm? He or she may still need your smile that you might not want to give.

And your class after lunch with 20 big teenage boys and only five girls, all hyped-up with sugar, dyes, and processed foods and IEPs and 504s? They need to know they’re worth the effort even when they themselves show none.

And those children from broken homes with parents who shatter each other with words or fists? They need a quiet heart to stand beside them, even though you know politicians only see their test scores and not their homes.

And those students with apathy so thick you fear they will never feel anything? For anyone? They need to see that transparency breathes a beautiful life. They need to see it in you, even when the see-through heart leaves you an easy target.

Teaching was never about us. If this profession has called your name, you’re only ever in it for the students.

That’s why it hurts so much when they act like they don’t care or when the disrespect slaps us hard across the face, and the sting burns for days.

I know you’re tired. You’re battle weary with wounds seeping and scarring. But they still need you.

They need to see your fight.

Don’t give up, my friend. You can’t. I can’t. The stakes are too high. This calling, this profession, this teaching—it changes the future.

Our students are worth starting new tomorrow. They are worth giving it all we have one more day again and again and again.

Because there are students listening. There are students learning. There are students caring. We must refuse to allow the loud voices of a few to drown out the soft voices of teachable spirits.

Let’s fight together, friends. Let’s end this year better than we began. Let’s cheer each other on tomorrow and the next day and the next until we hear that final bell ring.

This is our calling. These are our students.

They deserve our fight.