Winter sunshine is beautiful. The crisp, stark cold air breathes on my face, tiny pins of ice prick the end of my nose while the sun offers some form of comfort from the bite. I feel inspired when I witness a morning, glorious in all of its fresh opportunities. I’ve missed mornings of recent, succumbed to the late nights, weekends in consuming, weekends out consuming, weekdays passing by, another tally of stagnation. But these mornings, they make me feel alive.
The world continues to spin while I count my graces. His face was full of pain. Words feel like stories until you see the inflicted pain behind them. You can kind of ignore the facts and the truth behind the words. Nobody is giving him that release. I could see in his tired and aged eyes that he wanted a hug. He wants some release. I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s a beautiful soul really. I’ve said to him that if my dad gave me the opportunities that he is giving to his son, I’d absolutely not take them for granted. I feel guilty saying that about my dad, because no matter what, no matter how much I’ve wanted to scream and have actually screamed at him, his love has been constant. And that is no small feat in this world of pain.
On another note, I’m considering the way I behaved with a friend recently. I am a man of space and independence. I am a difficult person to get close to, I am aware of these difficulties and I love myself for them. I now truly do. People find me strange or perhaps intimidating, and at worst, impossible. I am aware of these attributes. And in some way, I know how I have attained them and why I’m maintaining them. Life is a constant lesson and although this friend doesn’t mean harm (which now, following a lengthy and brutally honest conversation, I see) I had to relay to him what I thought from the heart. See, I feel things about people. I observe and something with him didn’t tally up. I hope I haven’t hurt him and I ask for forgiveness if in some way I have. But sometimes, tough love makes things a bit better.
I can’t forever remain a dreamer. I can’t keep wanting without trying. I can’t keep expecting without contributing. I can’t keep letting life slip on by without creating the moments that live so vivid in my mind.
Universe. I thank you. I thank you for my family. I thank you for the friends that continue their contact although I don’t give the same back. I thank you for giving me reason and morals and compassion. I thank you for keeping my mentality in tact. Thank you for letting me feel.
I awoke today imagining what it would be like for those words to fall from my mouth, like spilt red wine. How easy it feels for the taste to linger, swirl in my mouth, around the insides of my head, collecting momentum before staining whichever surface it reaches first. After those words had been said, I imagine a sense of freedom. My chest opens, breathing comes easy, the air is cold and fresh on my lungs and life feels as though it has begun.
Such a vivid premonition has entered my psyche because of a drama that was shown on BBC4 called “Don’t Ever Wipe Tears Without Gloves.” Last night, episode 2 of the 3-parter premièred, and in all honesty it devastated me. It’s based upon a true story about the HIV/AIDS crisis of the 80’s in Stockholm, but the manner in which the story is told is just unforgettable.
I feel somewhat of an emotional ball, and although it will pass, and I know that there’s worse going on in the world, I’m going to allow myself to ride this one out without scorning myself for doing so.
Positive thought to finish?
Life is beautiful.
Last night was the turn of Mauro, a 22 year old who resides in SP, Brazil. My fascination with Brazil continues; from the sun-drenched promenades to the grande humid forests and the beautiful, welcoming people to the rich cultural diversity. I continue to seek out the pleasures of which I want to be a part of. Mauro seems cool. There was no overriding obviousness to him being gay, despite him having stated that he lives in the gay district of his expansive city.
His dark eyes showed a maturity beyond his years while his quiet enthusiasm for detailing his life showed that primal, somewhat child-like, need to share and to be listened to. He detailed information about his free spirited parents who through open discussion warned and nurtured the specifics of drug taking: LSD, ecstasy, cocaine, weed.
I have a history with those drugs. Not of abusing them, although one period of my life could have been said to be a little bit excessive, I am and have been a responsible recreational user. Much the same as this guy.
One thing I notice about the Brazilian people that have somehow become my friends over the past year or so is their love for the beauty of their homelands. Frequently they’ll share photos of gorgeous landscapes and beaches, without realising the amount of taunt involved to man who desires such views, and they’ll share music and history. They are very proud of where they come from but also recognise the corruption that may be somewhat more evident that the more modern “western” countries.
My obsession with Brazilian culture steers from this guy a little. I now have the opportunity to practice meu portugues with Andre, a guy studying for his PhD in my city. One thing that needs to be overcome is shyness and nerves when speaking in Portuguese as I’ve read time and time again that mistakes from speaking the language straight away are what help language learners to progress more quickly.
Por agora, eu preciso ir.
For now, I must go.