❝I hope you find a cozy home in yourself instead of wishing you were more this or less that. I hope you see something in yourself worth loving and protecting. I hope you find something that brings you comfort and lessens the loneliness. I hope you go on long walks and drink your favourite tea. I hope you have books, daydreams, paintbrushes, music and other escapes to hold on to when you have nothing else. I hope you continue to try even when you’re tired and can’t see the end. I hope unexpected good things come to surprise you. I hope you meet someone who lights up your life and makes up for all the goodbyes and endings that came before. I hope you’re going through your day and feel a sense of lightness all over and wonder to yourself, maybe it’s all going to be alright. I hope you make yourself proud. I hope you make new memories full of warmth and peace to replace the bad ones. I hope your heart will be surrounded with flowers, trees and stars. I hope everything gets better for you.❞
“There is neither happiness nor unhappiness in this world; there is only the comparison of one state with another. Only a man who has felt ultimate despair is capable of feeling ultimate bliss. It is necessary to have wished for death in order to know how good it is to live… the sum of all human wisdom will be contained in these two words: wait and hope.”
— Alexandre Dumas
Poucas coisas me deixam mais feliz do que quando alguém tem algo gentil a dizer sobre os meus hobbies. Gostar de uma página de um journal, de uma roupa que fiz, deve ser como os pais se sentem ao ouvir elogios a um filho. Não sei a razão; é menos vaidade (acho quase tudo o que faço no máximo básico) e mais esperança de que essas coisas tenham algum valor intrínseco e eu não seja apenas uma louca que se cerca de objetos e atividades inúteis cujo único propósito é preencher o longo espaço de tempo daqui até o fim.
“The plain fact is that the planet does not need more successful people. but it does desperately need more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers and lovers of every kind. it needs people who live well in their places. it needs people of moral courage willing to join the fight to make the world habitable and humane. and these qualities have little to do with success as our culture has defined it.”
— David Orr
And I know you wanna get out of here.
i know you think this town is the problem but maybe it’s not, maybe it’s you
i know you think there are walls around you, but did you ever look
it’s so easy to blame other people, it’s so easy to hate where you’re from
but the truth is we’re the product of nothing
just a collection of the things that we’ve done
what if the songs you say define you were just the ones that you heard first?
what if your first love could be your last love if you hadn’t used it as a way to rehearse?
it’s so easy to think of an ending, it’s so easy to start all over again
but the truth is you have to stick with it;
you’ll always fail sometimes when you begin.
– summer camp
“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”
— Haruki Murakami, “kafka on the shore”
It’s getting dark earlier. Winter is coming.
October was … anticlimactic. A bit of a failure. Rain, rain and more rain, accompanied by a gale that tore the leaves from the trees in record time, long before I had the time, inclination and opportunity to go gaze at them. The shops, usually packed to the rafters with skulls and pumpkins, stood bereft of halloweeny crap. Everyone anticipated a very flat all hallow’s eve, and they were not wrong: a total of zero children knocked on my door in search of treats, and they were right. Risk getting a virus for a cheap chocolate? It doesn’t seem like a good exchange.
I ate all the sweets I bought just in case, watched some horror movies, listened to my (ever wonderful) halloween playlist, didn’t carve a jack o’lantern, barely decorated the house and went to bed on a sugar high, low spirits mood.
The good news is we are alive and well. And that’s good enough.
“Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there. And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through the open living-room windows because the heat’s on too high in here and I can’t turn it off. For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking, I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do.
And yesterday, hurrying along those wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve, I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.
What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss–we want more and more and then more of it.
But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass, say, the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deep for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless:
I am living. I remember you.”
– Marie Howe