Monday, March 29, 2010

Last Christmas

Waking up and I still could taste the bitter flavor of last night. Everything came back to haunt me and it got me afraid to open my eyes and face it. Still under the blanket I heard a raucous voice saying that that situation was no longer happening again. The sad voice broke the silence with the sentence "it's over". And it repeated over and over again in my head, which was already sore and pensive. I'd say worried. It said "you're alone again".

The voice didn't seem to care about my future either. "Why should it?" - I thought 2 seconds later. I noticed a slight lack of expression, but actually, there was never one. I felt just like a Christmas gift unwrapped eagerly by a 12 year old kid. While the toy is fun, let's play with it. When it gets old, one is completely allowed to take it for granted, just like its wrapping paper. Yeah, I was basically a time-sheet paper thrown in a basket in the corner of a busy office, where nobody cares because nobody sees it. "And why should they?".

We went for a coffee and my fear boosted the hope that things were likely to change, even if it was just in my sore head. I anticipated every breath that the voice might have taken, expecting at least an apology or any sentence that meant regret. The voice was no longer raucous, it sounded relieved, as if thinking of the next step to take. It felt like "Dumping him, check!". I was out of the list and, eventually, the regret I unconsciously expected was totally out of sight. I still feared.

Having a coffee tasted bitter and salty simultaneously. Actually, all I could feel in my tongue was tears. The cappuccino made me think of life. Every sip I had was an attempt of being looked at by the voice in a sympathetic way. And when I was intent on counting the chocolate sprinkles on the foam, supposing it would give me more time to bring my soul back to my sad body, I heard an unexpected "let's see how things go". On the 27th of December, I happily took its words as a "let's give it a try" in the Christmas-ish way. But definitely I wasn't in the Christmas mood. My misery convinced the voice but didn't convince myself.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

The Bruises Of Love

I loved this picture. Seriously, it had never been so difficult to find a good figure to feature a post. First, I never even wondered I would ever name a post with such a cheesy and mexican soap opera-ish title. Second, don't even know why I came up with this name, but then I took a look at my right arm and there I saw this purple spot: a bruise caused by this special someone in a not special occasion. Ok, let me go with my story...
Ever since I was this clumsy and scraggy teenager (picture me wearing braces, long arms, tiny head and pitchy voice - EVIL!) I had these bruises I'm talking about. Even though they weren't visible (or maybe just ignorable) I can assure that they used to hurt even more than this one on my arm (which, I would say, was kinda funny - put a clip on it).
Note: If you dare keep on reading this text, I'd like you to know that if you're not in the mood to read things you'd find in your 15 year-old sister's diary, just ignore me and get away from here. Believe me, it either can make you cry or laugh - for sure! Moving on...
My stories are the ones which could be turned into movies (with terrible cast), probably just like yours: fell in love once, tried to chat her (!) up twice and, eventually, got dumped at some point. And you know what? It never really got healed. It's been exactly otherwise: although it had first happened when I was 11, it still lingers on now that I'm 26. God, I mean, for 15 years!!! I'm old! Leave it for another post which I'll probably name "The Bruises Of Ageing"...Riot again...
What I mean by saying all this is that every single complex I had at that young age and every fear I carry from being dumped in my early days still remain right here (I'm pointing at my heart). There's a part of me that says I grew older and shouldn't mind about my former demons but, yet, I can't prevent myself from hearing the other part saying how much of me hasn't changed. Thus, it says that, despite of my age, I still am the insecure and oversensitive young lad of 15 years ago, who's considerably afraid of bruises, sadness, loneliness and other "ness's". I've always been a good adviser for love issues. I've always wanted to be in a relationship so that I could see what it's like to be in the other side instead of putting on my mask of "been there, done that" every time my friends asked me for help. For this, as a very sympathetic friend I am, I often listen to many cheesy (ok, shitty) love stories. Just for the record, I really think they suck big time. Even mine.
That's why I chose this picture. The guy is totally fucked up, bruises all over but still having fun. Isn't it that love is all about?

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Hell No!

You see this picture? That's me right now. I'm like this. After a long time without posting for having a broken computer (thanks for that dear flatmate!) I simply pull off my great comeback in a hungover way. Sorry for that, but even stars have bad days. Ok, I'm bragging too much...
I went to a hawaiian party yesterday (don't want to google it, but I'm pretty sure I mispelled it) after going to a restaurant and tasting the most incredible starter I've ever had (ok, I was hungry). The party was just packed of brazilian people and some other nationalities that made it possible for me to try some "thank you" in other languages, but that was not the thing. The thing is that I got incredibly drunk. No, I didn't puke on the dancefloor (aka living room) or said anything offensive to someone who deserved it. Not that I remember. Oh yes, maybe I did... Then again, the great problem is the amnesia that's been hitting me recently. Some people really think I'm making it up for it being so weird that I can't even remember how I got a taxi after the party. Actually, I reckon I grabbed a taxi because my friend told me that I got to his house really fast, in a matter of few minutes... Yeah, there should have been a taxi, for sure (cut to me giving a side-eye to myself). Due to all of this, I'm not gonna play the Mr. Wiser and flaunt a nice message hidden in this post. Relax, there's no message of things that I've learned from life and "I'll-never-do-it-again" thing. No. This is just me being a former-drunk version of myself. A headache and spaced-out version of Plinio. Deep inside of me I think the last night version is a little bit more determined and independent. And, definitely, more sincere. Should I be like that everyday? Hell no!

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Thank You For Your Sympathy

Ok, I promise this is not gonna be a long post because I have heard some critic-like opinions on their length. It's not my fault that I'm a very intense person and that I cannot help myself from getting things out of my chest. This means their extension won't change as long as I have things to say. This is my diary. Shit, there I go acting like I'm angry...I'm not!
Actually, all I want to say is thank you my friends, but I don't feel like mentioning names. You know when you're bored and there's nothing left to do but thinking about how your life hasn't changed the way you thought it would? That's it, I'm in one of those days. Filling myself up with coffee, bread, cheddar, my favorite butter and my deep thoughts. I'm already fed up of all this, that's why I'm throwing them up here. On my blog. My diary.

The night before the last, before going to bed I swore to myself that I would make the next day a very fun one, as if it depended only on me (because it does, but only partially). So, I woke up, had my usual breakfast and headed for my friend's place, who wanted to spend his time in my company, since we both had nothing else to do. But we did. Actually, HE did. He spent all his time listening to my stories. And you know what? He loved them! I'm a very talkative person and sometimes I reckon I should award every individual who's able to listen to my stories and all the tiny details they have. Seriously, I always mind about them. Boring right? That's why they deserve the prize (very few people had the chance to get one).

Maybe you're thinking I'm a dumbass who gets happy with nothing special (and yes, you're right! And this makes it even easier for me to reach happiness - at least in my point of view) but I loved to see he was very into what I was saying. His eyes were wide open, his hands supporting his head showing how attentive he was. That's what I appreciated about it all: the sympathy. I just felt relieved for opening up my heart, even with my stupid or non-intelectual ideas, to someone that was worth talking to. Perhaps I was in a very sensitive moment (who's never been through it?) but I really admire that. I owe you dude. And you too reader. If you've come till the end of this post all I gotta say is "thanks for your sympathy".

Sunday, May 24, 2009

The Word Of The Day Is "Bulk"

First I thought about writing the definition of bulk for the ones who have no clue of its meaning. But then I thought it over and realized that if I do so, my dear blog will seem just like all the other online dictionaries. Also, an image is way better than a million words (did I translate well? Maybe there's the same saying in English, but, please, don't make me google it now..move your ass and do it yourself!). No, I'm not upset. I swear. Sorry.

I'm sure you must be asking yourself what the hell I'm talking about. Well, let me say then...

I've been working as a model for the last 4 years (ok, you fell off the chair, you're laughing and probably saying "C O M E O N!" but it definitely is true. The purest one). Moving on.
What I really want to say is that this profession manages to be lots of things, like fun, funny, interesting, cruel and I kinda like it all. Why is it fun? You see beautiful people most of the times (I say MOST because being a model is not exactly related to beauty at all. No jokes, please..). Why is it funny? Because they think that everybody else is "less" for not being such beautiful people like they are. Perhaps the adjective "funny" should be replaced by "tragic". Whatever. Interesting? 'Cause they really look self-confident, even if they're not. And, if not, they pretend it so well that I myself am defining them as self-confident. And why is it cruel? Just because it's just like any other kind of job. Just because. And people say what they're paid to say, whether you like it or not. However it seems to hurt more since it puts the finger right where it hurts the most in every single person: self-esteem. That's what happened to me when I went to the fittings for the NCAD Fashion Show last week.
While trying on the exquisite garment which made me look kind of part of the Star Trek casting, the fashion show organizer told me kindly to swap my alien outfit with the other model because he needed some more bulk (yes, MEAN!) to run along the catwalk with that. It'd be ok if he called me in the corner and whispered this sentence gently, or even angrily, if that was the case. But no. It wasn't like this. It's fashion industry. Things are supposed to be loud when it comes to this. And also, people are supposed to laugh (yes, it was really embarassing). As a guy full of complexes that I am, I felt a little bad in the first begining, even knowing that I shouldn't take it personal And I didn't do it, I promise. Just felt bad for not being bulk enough to parade with that. But, as a model, I should be more self-confident and looked the bright side of all that: even not being sturdy enough for that outfit, the other ones fitted me perfectly. And also, I was still part of the show, what, for a few seconds, made me more special than others who are not. At least that's what I preferred to think of while I was there. It was the only thing that could make me forget my complexes for that moment and make me the secure person I should be.

Friday, May 22, 2009

Poor Little Cigarette

Yeah, that's what I think: poor, little cigarette. Probably you maybe be thinking I shouldn't stick up for it all the bad things it's been put the blame on: lung cancer, enphysema, heart attack, stroke and ,eventually, DEATH. Ok, fine. But I'm still trying to understand why people behave as if it was the only thing that could lead you to death nowadays. Ok, I'll try harder to get my message across...
There was this girl who I was in love with (believe me, it has already happened...and for long 10 years) and, when she moved to another neighborhood, I had the chance to pay her a visit in order to catch up. We were two dumb 15 year-old teens who were going through this difficult phase of our lives (I would say ugly as well), when we think we know almost everything about everything. Then, I rang her, she came down, we hugged each other and talked about all the things we antecipated to tell one another. Then, for my surprise, as if it was really normal, she just pulled a cigarette out of her pocket and said she needed a lighter. That was completely shocking for me (please, it was 1997 for crying out loud!) and I didn't hesitate to grab her cigarette roughly from her hand and throw it away. Her face was like "what the fuck are you doing?" but then I explained that it would make her harm and definitely wasn't good for her health. You may be thinking "yeah, Plinio, and you were right!", but the thing is who really cares about others nowadays? I'm aware that all the advertising ought to warn the smokers of the risks they may face if they don't stop blowing the stinky cloud at people's faces, but I don't understand why there are people that treat smokers as if they already have the diseases shown on the boxes.
Please, don't get me wrong! I'm not saying that you should start smoking right after reading this post. My point is that there are plenty of things that are even worse than cigarette and no one makes advertisings about them. Example? Gossip. It's bad, stinky (you know what I'm saying), harmful and even so I don't walk on the streets shutting people's mouths. And I have never seen any billboard with the saying "talking about others affects your OWN life". Or even "Mind Your Business". Actually, I think it's the religious part of me which remembers that " the tongue is the most destructive part of your body" (yes, believe me again, I've been to church a couple of times). For this, let's be less hypocrite for once (because I consider impossible not to be a little).Thus, for the ciggies-admirers, if you decide to quit smoking, quit some other more harmful bad habits in your life - and I promise I'll quit mine.

Monday, May 18, 2009

"I Just Want To Be Loved"

"PlĂ­nio, I just want to be loved!"

This is something I'll never forget. You know when you hear something from a good friend of yours that just dropped by to say this to you? Well, that's exactly what happened to me. It was a sunny day and I woke up immersed in a terrible hangover, and the only plan I had for that day was to remain the whole afternoon in bed, enjoying my headache. But then I was surprised by this call from a good friend of mine who said she really wanted to come over to talk.
Then, a few minutes later she rang my doorbell, walked in and started crying. I still had the smell of the last night (it means smoke, alcohol and lots else) but, just for that time, my hangover state didn't matter at all. She was there crying. And I was there listening to it without any move.
Actually I have no idea why I'm saying this, but what I just found interesting in this is that she said what many people feel like saying but will never do. People are encouraged to behave like they don't give a damn about others think or say about them. This is totally bullshit! Everybody cares and I think everybody should care at least a little. Everybody likes to be pleased somehow, as well as please someone they like. For me (yeah, this is utterly personal) it's something really easy to do. It's nice to make the ones you like (or even the ones you've never seem before) smile for some seconds. That's a good example:
Yesterday it was a fucking rainy day (for a change), I got on the tram totally wet commuting to work and could see lots of people running in order to grab a place to be underneath. But there was a girl, listening to music on her Ipod, no umbrella in hands, wet from head to toe and enjoying herself. And you know what? She smiled at me with this I don't mind the rain-look and followed her way.That really made me happy! Isn't it just fantastic, somebody smiling when they're supposed to be cranky for getting wet? Well, for me it is (because I was cranky till it happened)...
I want be loved in this way. I'm not looking forward to receiving flowers, candies or a love letter (of course, who'd send that?). I just want a good smile, respect, good nights out with friends and feel free to be whatever I wanna be. Who doesn't, by the way?