A letter from John

"Carolina “Carissima”,

Time has passed (as always), the days behind me have gathered dust (human molecules and what’s left of summer smiles), and so the last letter you sent me is stored in the past, (while I can’t gaze at it) collecting moments safely hidden from the world…

I write to you from the University, my back in some pain from poor sleep, awaiting the next class, always waiting for something…

Have you found pleasure in existence lately? What makes your being tingle? Have you walked alone and arrived at any conclusions worth mentioning? Write to me with your essence, not your ego…

Lately, I have been avoiding the “sameness” of everyday activities. Singing out loud as a madman, dancing through the city across the streets, making the authentic movements of infinity while AMORFATI. What does this mean? I leave it to you to interpret.

My dear friend across the sea, have you found stability? If so, get rid of it, for you lie to yourself. Have you tried to make sense of “it”? I tell you: “scream to the sky and await an answer from the stars.”

My body laughs at me with its physical barriers. My mind laughs at me with its mental barriers. Everywhere there are walls in which I hit against. “Man is born free, but everywhere he is in chains.”

Make a boat of this letter, so you can board it and visit me. Cry, laugh, and sing.

I promise to write a letter of more substance next time. All the best and forgive the lack of words, as well as the improvised nature of this token.

Jonathan Ropiequet"

Important Things

Death is one of the few (if not the only) certainties we have, yet we all manage not to think about it. At least not when we can avoid it.

There’s a Buddhist master who teaches that thinking often about the possibility that we may not survive to see ‘tomorrow’, helps putting life in perspective.

Think about it. Living with the feeling that you may die any moment brings the urgency of doing that which is really important. It’s impressive how some things come right from your unconscious mind to your priority list once some serious thought is given to this teaching. Most interesting of all, one realizes that life isn’t really meant to be wasted with petty things.

Is there anything important you have to say to anyone? Is there anyone who needs your hug? Is there anyone who needs to know how much you care? Is there anyone you need to forgive?

If you have answered yes to any of the questions above, consider doing something now. I know how difficult it is to be brave and take action, but be warned that tomorrow may just be too late.

Everlasting Happiness...

...is nowhere to be found but within ourselves.

Insolvable Matters

Over highly caloric french fries and cheap beer, my friends and I spent part of the night complaining about the lack of prince-charming material in the market (at least for us). We had previously had a heated discussion over the weakness of political institutions in Brazil, so we needed to fuss about a lighter topic.
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I have got to be honest – we are quite likable. And smart! I can’t figure what’s wrong, really. Perhaps we failed to embody the can’t-go-wrong combination of ignorance coupled with striking beauty, or exceptional brains with striking beauty. If either happens to be the issue, I’m doomed: I’m no Bündchen or Einstein-Bündchen.
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By the end of the night the girls and I had shared good laughs, but we arrived at no definite conclusions. We went back home wondering what might (really) be wrong with us. And politicians.

About a Boy

This little brown-haired boy was probably eight. He sat next to me, commanded by a grandma who had exclaimed in embarrassingly high notes, “There, why don’t you sit next to this beautiful girl?” I figured the cute boy would want to bury his face somewhere, but he just followed the orders and remained silent. I actually felt relieved that he chose not to yell “she-is-horrible-and-I-do-not-want-to-sit-by-her” in protest to the voice of authority. It seems to me that at this stage in life, kids do not quite understand or care about the social rules which often demand us to restrain from being boldly honest.

*
I wondered if he wanted to sit by the window. Did he keep glancing at me or at the world outside? The later hypothesis made me feel like I was supposed to switch seats with him. Predictably enough, just when I was about to make him this proposition, grandma called him up and they got off the bus. As my eyes wandered, looking at nothing in particular, they were caught by the sight of the middle-school boy turning to wave me goodbye. I waved back and smiled, amazed with I don't know what.

Minding My Own Mind

After a pleasantly insightful conversation over coffee and soft background music, it struck me that my approach to life might not have changed as much in the past three years. In my late teens, I really believed my unquiet spirit would only be satisfied if it was fed in the highest academic environment there could be. I assumed that being intellectually challenged would provide an endlessly sublime experience. I really couldn’t picture myself doing something other than studying in the U.S. In the end, despite all my efforts, I never got to have this experience. It’s been a year since those academic plans went down, but I no longer mourn about this – I am certain that I wouldn’t have found what I’m still looking for at Harvard or Yale. Today I query myself, how did it once occur to me that happiness depended on having access to Ivy League education? Perhaps I just attributed the achievement of some kind of enlightenment to being drunk on intense intellectual activity.
Lately I’ve been searching for answers elsewhere, but I find myself haunted by the thought that I might still be pursuing the wrong things, even if the reasons are right. Thoughts and more thoughts, they never leave me! I can’t help rationalizing just about everything. Does the reliance on a mind that conceptualizes feelings of compassion and love indicate the existence of a dry heart? I would hate to admit this, but it seems like I have become too comfortable with the feeling of melancholy that follows reflective thought-processing. What on Earth has happened to me?

Generosity

Around 8 PM last thursday, I boarded a rather empty train to finally go back home. As I sat there, I instantly started reviewing the happenings of the day - It started with an statistics final, which I'd been dreading ever since I learned I'd have to study statistics. After that traumatic experience, things ran much more smoothly; I spent a great deal of time at the library, had lunch and ran to my French class. By the time I was ready to go, I realized it was already 4:30. Anyone who lives in São Paulo knows what this means: Super packed public transportation. Knowing I'd have to spend at least 1 hour and a half commuting under such unpleasant conditions, I quickly concluded I'd be better off staying a few more hours at college.

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So, there I was: sitting in the midst of people who looked incredibly tired. They were probably dreaming of tasty meals and hot showers, just as I was. Four more stations, and then I'd finally be home. As I reached for my music device, I heard a squeaky voice that I found hard to ignore. I looked up, and I saw one of those people who sell candy on the train. There was nothing specially different about him - aside from his voice - but the candy caught my eye. Not because I love sweets anyway, but because they were so carefully and thoughtfully wrapped. I though of the time he must have spent in doing that at his home and then I though of the many train wagons he most have hopped in and out to sell them. I wondered how tired he'd feel at the end of the day and how lucrative his business was. Neither of my thoughts led to happy conclusions.

*

I decided to buy the candy. I opened my wallet, but with grand surprise I realized there was no money at all. With a disappointed smile, I apologized and told the expectant candy seller that I wouldn't buy anything because I was out of coins. He gave me a two-second perplexed look and then moved away without saying a word.

*

As I wondered if he had gotten mad because I somehow made him believe I was going to buy his product and then didn't, he approached me again:

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"Hey there, do you want this?"

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Now I was the one giving him a perplexed look. Was he offering me candy despite the fact that I was broke for the day?

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"If you want to have this, go on and take it."

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I was still trying to figure out why he was doing that, but managed to refuse politely and thank him. The train doors opened and he got off.

*

When this man first boarded the train, he announced he was in a bad financial situation and that any kind of help would be more than welcomed. Why on Earth would he want to give me free candy? I tried to rationalize what had just happened, but I didn't succeed.

*

I guess he was simply being generous to a stranger. Despite the difficulties, despite his life. I'll never know what led him to do that, but the one thing I know is that he taught me a lesson. His generosity made me feel really ashamed, for I don't know if I would be concerned about being generous were I in his shoes. I don't even know if I'm as generous as I could and should be today. Probably not, but I'm comitted to be more like the man who sells neatly-wrapped candy on the train.

To: Laura

Dearest friend,

You are about to uncover the mysteries of South America on your own. How brave!

Before wishing you “have a nice trip”, there are two things I wanted to say:

First - Take a journal. Some interesting thoughts may cross your mind, and I guess you’ll want to put them down on paper.

Second - When you reach a mountain peak or something of the sort, promise me you will remember to do this: stop with the picture-taking frenzy for a minute and move away from the noisy tourist groups (if it is safe of course). Try to give yourself some privacy. Inhale as if it were your last breath; hold it for a few seconds, and then exhale as if you wanted to freeze that moment for a bit longer than it’s actually going to last. Now, look around and realize how completely overwhelmed you feel. Do not try to grasp or turn anything into a concept. Do not become nostalgic before you even know something is over. Just be aware of the inexplicable magic and stay present.

Something tells me some of your questions will be answered then.

When you come back, please, don’t share this experience. Keep it to yourself. The secrecy will make it even more real and special.


I trust that you will make this a memorable trip, Laura!

Bon Voyage,

Carol

La Fleur

Watching this flower bloom was thrilling. I can’t remember the last time I stopped to appreciate such genuine and unpretentious beauty. I had forgotten there were still such things in this world crowded by people who have become artificial, showing off silicone-made parts and over-inflated egos.

About This Lady I Saw At The Train Station

It almost looked like she was dancing. As I watched her sweep the dusty train platform this morning, my ever-curious mind wondered what thoughts might be crossing her mind. Would she be thinking of the miseries of life? Or would she be just mentally grunting about the chilly weather? She didn’t seem deeply concentrated on her task, but she moved swiftly. I also noticed how she didn’t mind the hurrying passengers and how they didn’t seem to mind her either. Sad thing about living in busy cities and managing hectic lives is that we rarely bother to really look at people.

*

I was awaken from my stupor as soon as the train doors closed and life took off.

Why...

...do we tend to create expectations about virtually everything? About people, about outcomes, about life? Our most futile or intimate wishes almost never correspond to what reality delivers (sometimes with a good slap on our face).

The City

The following essay was written in 2006 in response to a question posed by a scholarship contest. It had something to do with explaining "where I would like to live and why." I never won the scholarship, but it was worth writing this piece. It registers feelings and expectations from a time I allowed myself to be nothing but an irresponsible dreamer.

The City

By Carolina Uehara

At times, the awareness of being where I am is enough to make me feel trapped. Does this make sense? Maybe not. Allow me to explain it better.
My most escapist self (in moments of inner chaos) suggested running away to Tibet – a highly spiritual place, where finding peace plus happiness would sound like a guaranteed package. I mean, it must be like that, since monks are constantly smiling Mona Lisa smiles.

Need I become a monk?

After my return from Europe, not long ago, I noticed how my tourist naiveté had unavoidably been charmed by the City of Light: Les musées, les cafés, les Parisiens chics….La tour!

How was I to resist?

And then, there was my often unsettling Sagittarian side trying to figure out how to be everywhere else. Why? Well, it felt it was a waste of land to live only in one place. I couldn’t help but find this reasoning, reasonable.

Where? When?

I had all these voices competing for attention, but the competition didn’t last for long: Lhasa was defeated right away – I guess I wasn’t ready for complete detachment from the mundane world yet.
And, well, on the final match, Paris didn’t even have to pull out the baguettes – Centaurs was effortlessly convinced. Or should I say bewitched?
I knew then that trouble was coming.
The daily habit of imagining how it would be to live by the Seine intoxicated me with painful nostalgia – It felt as if I was being deprived of a vital need.
On I went, until it ultimately came to a point I couldn’t bear myself – and that’s when I realized I had been the one who consciously chose to feed a belief that established living in Paris as a condition for reaching utmost bliss.
I stopped. The voices were silenced. I focused.

What do I really want?

One minute. My eyes popped open. I knew I was smiling a Dalai Lama smile. Awareness struck me at once.

I want to be where I am.


The city is a harmonious composition of impressive architectural styles that blend beauty and modernism; the breathtaking skyline is one – but not the only – evidence. If that weren’t enough, the waters of a grand sapphire-blue lake seal interminable kisses with the eastern border of the city; the lovable encounter is not only a splendorous view, but also the happiness of Midwest summer lovers and a few stubborn – I mean, determined – surfers.
For those (like me) who feel an insatiable hunger for knowledge, diverse important museums, art centers and libraries are a full banquet. Actually, talking about culture, lack of it is something this cosmopolitan city doesn’t know – festivals and fairs of all kinds always call for many different types of individuals, making people-watching irresistible.
This city feels like home. It welcomed me in a way I would have never predicted.

I confess I let Paris steal a piece of my heart so that I would have an excuse to go back. And I will someday. But as for now I am where the rest of my heart, soul, mind and body unanimously voted to stay.

It’s been one year since I moved to Chicago.

Partiality

Here's a part of an essay I wrote when I applied to Amherst college:

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"Even though I recognize the need of partiality in diverse situations of life, I sometimes feel suffocated in abstaining myself from freely expressing impartial observations. This is one of the reasons I long for an academic environment in which ideas can be expressed without any fear of retaliation or obligation to please."

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I was not admitted at Amherst college, but I managed to start studying this year. I'm just not so sure I have found the academic environment I had longed for a couple of years ago. But, here's what I've been doing:

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"In identifying partiality everywhere I look, I have learned to recognize its existence within myself. This awareness has helped me to stay even more alert and, at least, perceive when I am not being deliberatly partial."

Humans

Forget about strolling down Michigan Avenue on weekends, bike riding in the woods of the North Shore suburbs or people-watching during summer festivals at Grant Park. Those sunny days are long gone. My new reality consists of boarding a packed, rusty train, every single morning. During these daily trips on the way to college, I find myself surrounded by faces whose eyes always catch mine. As a keen observer that I have become, I can almost instantly decipher those stranger's souls.

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What I've seen lately, however, makes me wish I stopped seeing.

Sometimes I wish...

(_________________).

Just can't find the words to express myself.

...

Well, ok, that's a lie. I guess I could find them effortlessly, but I'd rather not; at least, not right at this moment. Who knows what I may find out? Hypothesizing is dangerous for dreamers.