lu: (Trix are for kids)
It's 8:30 PM on Sunday night and I'm laying down on my bed, watching The L Word's second season with the Cat asleep between my legs.

It was a quiet day. I had planned on spending it writing reports for college that are due at the end of July, but couldn't get myself to do it (by the way—I seriously can not believe I'll be back to Uni in two weeks). I guess I needed a day off. A day off not to think about college, work or social obligations.

I used to hate being alone here on weekends. Nowadays I'm starting to see the matter differently. I've been trying to be more happy spending quality time with myself, and being less co-dependent of people. It's a slow process, but I think I'm starting to see some results.

Cleaning up the house, heating up lunch, staying in bed with the Cat watching The L Word, and going out for diner by myself at a nearby restaurant to watch the game, all seem like simple and normal things to do on a Sunday. They were, however, big steps for me.

As much as I'm used to being home alone on weekends, I'm not used to enjoying it. And yet I did.

As much as I hate living in this city, I've started to develop a somewhat healthy relationship with it for the past two or three months.

I haven't really stopped ranting about public transportation, our lack of decent administrators, or some of the local's attitudes, but, then again, I guess I never will. On the other hand, I've been trying to get to know nice places to go, to eat, to see, to be entertained. You know, those little special niches that makes you think that you belong in a city, and that the city, somewhat, also belongs to you.

In the two years I lived in São Paulo I've managed to fall head-over-heels for the City. And I still do, every time I return.

In the sixteen years I've lived in Rio, I only managed to complain and compare it São Paulo. Well, I need to stop comparing, and cut some slack on the complaining. During my whole life I have heard people bitch about Rio and São Paulo, and was discriminated for either being from one city or the other.

Being born in São Paulo, living in Rio for fourteen years, moving to São Paulo for high school, returning to Rio for college and, all the while, going back and forth at least once a month, turned me into a weird hybrid. To be frank, I don't really know how to define myself, and I don't really think I should. I like being this way, and it's high time I acknowledge the part of me that is connected to this city I'm living in, and that has—despite all stressful situations it has put me through—been really good to me.

This "I'm-Also-From-Rio" process, along with the aforementioned "I'm-Self-Sufficient" process, is part of what I will call Operation Growing Up.

God, I'm nineteen years old. It doesn't sound like much, but, to me, it's a lifetime. About time I wake up.

You like bowling, don't you, Montag?

If you don't want a man unhappy politically, don't give him two sides to a question to worry him; give him one. Better yet, give him none. If the government is inefficient, topheavy, and tax-mad, better it be all those than that people worry over it. Peace, Montag. Give the people contests they win by remembering the words to more popular songs or the names of state capitals or how much corn Iowa grew last year. Cram them full of noncombustible data, chock them so damned full of 'facts' they feel stuffed, but absolutely 'brilliant' with information. Then they'll feel like they're thinking, they'll get a sense of motion without moving. And they'll be happy, because facts of that sort don't change. Don't give them any slippery stuff like philosophy or sociology to tie things up with. That way lies melancholy.

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August 2009


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