domingo, 30 de outubro de 2016
sábado, 29 de outubro de 2016
quarta-feira, 19 de outubro de 2016
sábado, 8 de outubro de 2016
sábado, 1 de outubro de 2016
One Box at a time
Maybe she
had been unconsciously postponing opening remaining boxes, strangely enough mostly
crystal and cd boxes. Boxes with precious golden things and mementos from
foreign far away beaches; little glasses with sand, other slightly bigger with tiny
sea shells and rocks. Those she might have still kept from the first time her
mother had been in a far away beach with amazing voluptuous shells in tortuous
designs from a beach near a convent, from the place where, she was told, that
delicious chocolate was made. Those boxes with crystal glasses in all distinct
sizes which had been part of her deceased aunt’s duvet. The aunt she never
knew, the aunt never to be married, the aunt who for her as a child simply
meant that huge crystal glasses collection preciously kept in a glass doors wardrobe
at her grandparents antique house. Days of that week went by with some of those
boxes being opened to salvage the green colored glasses she cherished so much.
And it took her days opening, rearranging
and closing again boxes to realise that keeping such boxes closed for so long
could mean she had not yet reached her place to be. As if it could mean, and
show her every time her glance hit a shelf that she was still on the move, was
still going ahead, had still other things and places to achieve. As if opening
any of those boxes meant acknowledging that possibly nothing which really
mattered would ever really change. And she was bound to be forever more or less
where she started, minus some crystal handles broken along the way.
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