Essa lingua que me pariu e que eu não me acostumei a escrever com, como é interessante que eu não valorize aquilo que me é intrínseco.

O problema de escrever em português pra mim é ter que ficar colocando esses acentos, e mais importante, o fato de minha mente ficar se atentando para construir um texto cada vez mais bonito e formal, sempre a procura de palavras mais precisas e rebuscadas.

A frustração de forçar a mente em uma direção e não receber a resposta adequada, por falta de vocabulário é entristecedora. Mas não é desculpa, tanto é que escrevo em nativo agora.

Basta um puxão, um empurrão de alguém próximo para que tomemos atitudes simples que podem mudar muita coisa em nossas vidas.

Acredito que coisas simples por natureza, não aquelas que são simplificadas para além de sua natureza, são muito valiosas e trazem grande conhecimento e força. Aquele que rebusca demais suas ações, pensamentos e conceitos, vai além do necessário e desperdiça tempo valioso.


My last trip…

I can’t focus on nothing, I’m just too up in my head every time. It’s too much confusion, this camping trip brought me back to life with so many questions and uncertainty.

I’m not capable of explaining nothing that happen, not even to myself.

I don’t remember exactly all the subjects we discussed, the ideas we shared and the conclusions we made.

I do remember something about ‘Santa Simplicita’, and the guy who was in the fire-pit.

I do remember “It has to be rational, otherwise it’s too easy”. It’s like creating a shortcut, but shortcuts doesn’t exist. They are just you lying to yourself.

I remember myself losing fear on the beach, and feeling the reward right away. The massage of waves. Fighting against the waves, playing with them. Being fearless. That was awesome.

The clouds, just like angels holding trumpets, all connected and after turning back and forth into snowflakes… and finally the self-questioning about whether that was creativity enhanced by the substance or just delusional effects; Therefore culminating on the realization that creativity it’s just the choice to look at things differently.

The experience of freely respecting another human being’s space. And at same time, feeling that weird mind connection that I don’t quite understand but I did felt.

The nights observing the stars.. the fear of someone watching us, trying to approach us during the night, or even the animals…

The sickness hitting us up and the everyday fight against adversity, stress, boredom and laziness.

The chats facing the ocean at night. The reflections over life, existence, future, purpose, great thinkers ideas.

The day I shat completely relaxed and felt great about it.

The day I was nude and looked at my penis and realized the impacts of having a small one over my action through life. The shame, the low self esteem, the need to overpower my similar, to prove to myself that I was able to fuck as many girls as I wanted, specially the hottest and most desired ones.

If looked at closely, shame is nothing else than the fear of what other people will think about myself. It’s the fear of seeing this ‘persona’ I built over the years falling apart, the image I created, the good fame, the respect. Basically what I finally came to understand as ‘ego’.

Why should I have shame on any of my actions, ideas or even on my body? My voice?

Every time I hide myself in a lie, I’m lowering myself over someone else’s perception of right or wrong.. I’m following group thinking, I’m coping with the society fucked up rules.