Acontece-me sempre isto. Recupero palavras soltas, sons e imagens que ficaram lá atrás. Como se desarrumasse um baú que ficou mal fechado (quase de próposito). Nisto, depois de algumas tentativas, consigo chegar aqui (com o meu Youtubinho). E acabo de redescobrir isto. Foi uma daquelas músicas de Verão que, mesmo que passem 24 anos, não deixam de ser isso mesmo. Mas nada contra. Esta, agora, mandou-me lá para 2000 ou 2001. Ali, sim, ficaram os anos bons. Eram férias que nunca mais acabavam, eram amigos novos que enchiam o meu primeiro telemóvel, eram os SMS que se trocavam a dizer coisa nenhuma, eram noites em que não faziamos mais do que rir, eram dias que pareciam apenas horas de tão curtos que eram. E nestas horas fui mesmo feliz. A sério que fui. Agora sei que fui.
Gosto que sejam 00.35h da noite e ainda não tenha nem uma linha escrita. Gosto que, a meio da tarde, tenha pensado em fazer uma coisa e chegado a casa e feito outra. Estou cansada. De banho tomado. Enfiada na cama. E doi-me tudo. O artigo acabado era mesmo para ontem. Pois! Adoro quando os dias correm todos ao contrário. Quero uma vida nova, pode ser?...
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience… I will dispense this advice now:
Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh nevermind: you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked… You’re not as fat as you imagine. Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. Thereal troublesin your life are apt to bethings that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.
Do one thing everyday that scares you. Sing. Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours. Floss. Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind…the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with yourself. Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how. Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements. Stretch. Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life… The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t. Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees, you’ll miss them when they’re gone.
Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary…what ever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s.
Enjoy your body, use it every way you can…don’t be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own... Dance. Even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room. Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.
Do not read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly. Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future. Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.
Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel. Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders. Respect your elders.
Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund, maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out. Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85. Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.
Me: Your lyrics usually tell us about some controversy, like social and political criticism, poverty, capitalism or corruption. But, in the end, you can also write about love. How can someone write like this?
Her:"All boils down to one thing. Love, regardless of hatred and grief in this world, is in everything: politics, economics, religion. Too much love makes people greedy and make them want power".
Tenho a lágrima muito fácil. Até demais. Com um filme. Com uma música. Com uma frase. Com uma visita. Com um programa de televisão. E com notícias tristes. Quando soube que estavas doente e num hospital, foi quase como se tivesse sido apertada com força. Sei que grande parte da culpa disto é tua. Sei que és feito de muitos excessos. Até demais. Mas se assim não fosse, quer-me parecer que não ias ter nem metade das coisas para me contar. Disseram que podias ficar com a tua voz comprometida. Que nunca mais poderias voltar a cantar. Que a tua carreira teria chegado ao fim. Não acreditei. Não podia ser. Tu não. E hoje lá estava ela: a notícia de que voltaste para casa. O problema é que também choro com boas notícias. Não me interpretes mal. Estou para lá de contente por te teres livrado daquela cama. Mas agora, peço-te, cuida de ti. Ainda quero cantar-te, dançar-te e voltar a dançar-te tantas e tantas vezes. Hoje, este post é para ti, GM.
Andar por Lisboa muito distraída. Atravessar uma rua com semáforo verde para os peões, mas esquecer que existe uma passadeira. Escolher, em alternativa, atirar-me para o meio da estrada e não olhar para lado nenhum. Levar com um empurrão de um autocarro do lado esquerdo. Recompor-me. E pedir desculpa à condutora pelo sucedido. Seguir a minha vidinha para uma consulta no dentista. Há atropelamentos que são quase atropelamentos.
