This text is fictional; any resemblance to people or events is purely coincidental.
Today,
The youngest Judge; The youngest Doctor; The youngest consultant; The youngest writer; The youngest employee of XXX S.A.
Today I know I won't be the “youngest at anything”. The illusions of a young successful person have been lost in time, and what remains here little resembles who I was seven or eight years ago. I walked through the afternoon, but even the world doesn't resemble what it was. The bridge over which a murky water with stained stones flowed, today has two lanes, each divided into three lanes, with cars coming and going in greater or lesser numbers even on Sunday mornings. The grocery store where I carefully searched its three aisles for something between cookies, pasta, jelly, and pudding, something I could afford with the change I had clutched in my palm, today has forbidden access. There are bars on the doors and the same lady who worked there today, even older, serves us through the bars and asks what we want, takes it, and hands it to us. The grab-and-go is gone. Despair from fear transforms the world. I can no longer relax at the sight of my window, of the cool breeze that hit my face even on summer afternoons, and climbing on top of the house on melancholic afternoons doesn't relieve me at all. Two days ago, my sister had her birthday and didn't invite me. Even from the hatred she showed, from the nail she used to drag on my arm when I messed with her cassette tapes, I miss even that. Just like the cassettes, the VHS, the many, many coins and banknotes I collected, our money changed its face every year; they were coins and coins with different images, cruzeiros, cruzados, they were animal intentions. I'm tired of the hummingbird, the turtle, the heron, and that ugly red macaw, and that yellow golden lion tamarin. The jaguar still brings some joy, and the Garoupa had its charm when the minimum wage was 75 Reais. To think that a Brazilian worked for a month and didn't even get a bill with that money. But I never needed more than the change I had clutched in my hand.
Today I went to a small snack bar on a corner of Avenida Goiás in the Center that I always used to go to when I was young; it hadn't changed much, which made me very happy. The pizza recipe was the same; its melted cheese looked showy and gooey in the display case. The man who served me wasn't older than before, but his son, who had helped him daily for years, was now in college and a different young man was hired.
The children who were so childish when I thought I was a smart teenager, now they can talk about sex. I'm surprised, some so wise and others so foolish. Always reminding me of adults.
I know I'm far from the definitive end of my life, but I feel many ends are near. I discover that the world doesn't end all at once. Our world doesn't. It's a gradual consequence of losses. I think, I don't know yet, that in the end we ourselves get tired of this. Things aren't as we would like them to be, as we dreamed when we were young, and moreover, the world stopped being as it was.
In the end, God will be contemplating a slow and frustrating Apocalypse, whose expectation was always very far from what was expected. And me? I confess that I'm still not sure where I want to be. Today I think I would be sitting on some celestial body wandering in eternity, marveling at the enchanting beauties of the Infinite.
07.23.09
Sílvio Lôbo
This text is fictional; any resemblance to people or events is purely coincidental.
Today,
The youngest Judge; The youngest Doctor; The youngest consultant; The youngest writer; The youngest employee of XXX S.A.
Today I know I won't be the “youngest at anything”. The illusions of a young successful person have been lost in time, and what remains here little resembles who I was seven or eight years ago. I walked through the afternoon, but even the world doesn't resemble what it was. The bridge over which a murky water with stained stones flowed, today has two lanes, each divided into three lanes, with cars coming and going in greater or lesser numbers even on Sunday mornings. The grocery store where I carefully searched its three aisles for something between cookies, pasta, jelly, and pudding, something I could afford with the change I had clutched in my palm, today has forbidden access. There are bars on the doors and the same lady who worked there today, even older, serves us through the bars and asks what we want, takes it, and hands it to us. The grab-and-go is gone. Despair from fear transforms the world. I can no longer relax at the sight of my window, of the cool breeze that hit my face even on summer afternoons, and climbing on top of the house on melancholic afternoons doesn't relieve me at all. Two days ago, my sister had her birthday and didn't invite me. Even from the hatred she showed, from the nail she used to drag on my arm when I messed with her cassette tapes, I miss even that. Just like the cassettes, the VHS, the many, many coins and banknotes I collected, our money changed its face every year; they were coins and coins with different images, cruzeiros, cruzados, they were animal intentions. I'm tired of the hummingbird, the turtle, the heron, and that ugly red macaw, and that yellow golden lion tamarin. The jaguar still brings some joy, and the Garoupa had its charm when the minimum wage was 75 Reais. To think that a Brazilian worked for a month and didn't even get a bill with that money. But I never needed more than the change I had clutched in my hand.
Today I went to a small snack bar on a corner of Avenida Goiás in the Center that I always used to go to when I was young; it hadn't changed much, which made me very happy. The pizza recipe was the same; its melted cheese looked showy and gooey in the display case. The man who served me wasn't older than before, but his son, who had helped him daily for years, was now in college and a different young man was hired.
The children who were so childish when I thought I was a smart teenager, now they can talk about sex. I'm surprised, some so wise and others so foolish. Always reminding me of adults.
I know I'm far from the definitive end of my life, but I feel many ends are near. I discover that the world doesn't end all at once. Our world doesn't. It's a gradual consequence of losses. I think, I don't know yet, that in the end we ourselves get tired of this. Things aren't as we would like them to be, as we dreamed when we were young, and moreover, the world stopped being as it was.
In the end, God will be contemplating a slow and frustrating Apocalypse, whose expectation was always far from what was expected. And me? I confess that I'm still not sure where I want to be. Today I think I would be sitting on some celestial body wandering in eternity, marveling at the enchanting beauties of the Infinite.
07.23.09
Sílvio Lôbo
