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Errante

"Por mais soberana que a a minha mente se torne, o meu coração será para sempre vagabundo"

28
Abr19

GoT S8EO2

anpatriciaa

brienne.jpg

This is an intimate moment for Brienne and Jaime- the scene almost feels like a wedding. Jaime declares his faith in Brienne, just as she did for him before. Jaime and Brienne might never kiss or have sex, but this knighting is a moment of love.

[Fonte: Alt Shift X, youtube]

19
Nov18

A Letter to My Daughter as She Judges Herself in the Mirror

anpatriciaa

"Dear daughter of mine,

I watched you tonight, beaming at yourself in the mirror. You twirled in delight over your new dress and the braid I’d earlier worked into your hair. You smiled your brightest smile, and batted your eyes at yourself. And when you caught me watching, you said, “I pretty, mommy.”

I beamed right back and said, “Yes you are, sweet girl. You’re beautiful.”

But inside, part of me was sad. Because as I watched you, so completely confident in the image staring back at you from that mirror, I wondered how long it might be before that confidence starts to fade. Before you start picking that image apart, instead of lifting her up the way you did tonight.

I don’t want it to ever happen. I want you to always look at yourself the way you did tonight, to always see the beauty I see in you every day. Unfortunately, I know that for girls especially, things don’t always work out that way. I know that as you grow older, you’ll become more aware of the expectations society has placed upon us: messages about perfection, weight, and unattainable ideals. I know that no matter how hard I work to keep those expectations and messages out of our home, they’ll find you somewhere — in the movies you watch, the music you listen to, and the gossip being shared by your friends.

Personally, I’ve made so many strides myself in learning to appreciate my own reflection in the mirror. I’m also forever conscious of the words I say about that reflection in your presence. But I know that even if I model for you the self-worth I hope you’ll always exude, the day will come when someone somewhere will chip away at that belief in yourself. It might happen a little bit at a time, or all at once without warning. Girls today don’t make it through their youth unscathed. They don’t survive childhood without finding something in the mirror they wish that they could change.

So when that day comes, sweet girl, when you find yourself looking in the mirror wishing away your thighs, or yearning for bigger breasts, or loathing the curve of your nose or the color of your eyes, I hope you’ll remember this …

 

I see you. I see you more clearly than anyone else ever will. And I love every part of you.

  • Your legs will be perfect, whatever shape they are, because they will be strong enough to carry you through this life.
  • Your breasts will be yours, which will make them exactly right.
  • Your button nose and almond eyes will forever be my favorite.

That body of yours will allow you to run, to draw, to write, and to breathe. Which will be what makes it all a part of your perfection.

There will be people who cut you down. People who tell you that you are too big, or too small. That your skin color isn’t right, or your hair doesn’t fall the way it should. You will inevitably face the sting of someone you find attractive not seeing the same in you. And it will hurt. And make you question yourself. And leave you feeling less than.

But your beauty won’t just come from the physical image in the mirror. It will be evident in your kindness toward others. Your empathy. Your compassion. Your desire to always do what’s right. These are qualities I see in you even now, qualities I will forever be proud to see you embody. And in these traits of yours, there is so much more beauty than could ever be achieved by the perfect blowout or the right shade for your nails.

Yes, you are beautiful my sweet girl. But you are also so much more than that. And you always will be. No matter how you may feel about that image in the mirror.

 

I know that when that day comes, when that moment arrives, there will be very little I can do or say to ease the sting.

But I hope that somewhere, in the back of your mind, my voice will be whispering through the pain, “You are perfect. You are beautiful. You are everything you should be, exactly as you are.”

Because you are, sweet girl. You are perfect. You are beautiful. And you are everything you should be, exactly as you are.

And I wouldn’t change a thing.

Love, your proud mama"

 

fonte: https://www.xlr8health.com.au/blogs/weightlossarticles/a-letter-to-my-daughter-as-she-judges-herself-in-the-mirror

30
Jul16

Miguel Torga

anpatriciaa

torga_179.jpg

 

Nasceu na localidade de São Martinho de Anta, em Vila Real a 12 de Agosto de 1907.[3][4][5] Oriundo de uma família humilde de Sabrosa, Sabrosa, era filho de Francisco Correia da Rocha e Maria da Conceição de Barros.

Em 1917, aos dez anos, foi para uma casa apalaçada do Porto, habitada por familiares. Fardado de branco, servia de porteiro, moço de recados, regava o jardim, limpava o pó, polia os metais da escadaria nobre e atendia campainhas. Foi despedido um ano depois, devido à constante insubmissão. Em 1918, foi mandado para o seminário de Lamego, onde viveu um dos anos cruciais da sua vida. Estudou Português, Geografia e História, aprendeu Latim e ganhou familiaridade com os textos sagrados. Pouco depois, comunicou ao pai que não seria padre.

Emigrou para o Brasil, em 1920[3], ainda com treze anos, para trabalhar na fazenda do tio, proprietário de uma fazenda de café em Minas Gerais.[6] Ao fim de quatro anos, o tio apercebe-se da sua inteligência e patrocina-lhe os estudos liceais no Ginásio Leopoldense, em Leopoldina.[3][7] Distingue-se como um aluno dotado. Em 1925, convicto de que ele viria a ser doutor em Coimbra, o tio propôs-se pagar-lhe os estudos como recompensa dos cinco anos de serviço, o que o levou a regressar a Portugal e a concluir os estudos liceais.[1][3]. Ama a cidade de Leiria, onde exerce a sua profissão de médico, a partir de 1939 e até 1942, onde escreve a maioria dos seus livros. Em 1933, concluiu a licenciatura em Medicina pela Universidade de Coimbra.[3] Começou a exercer a profissão nas terras agrestes transmontanas, pano de fundo de grande parte da sua obra. Dividiu seu tempo entre a clínica de otorrinolaringologia e a literatura.

 

origem: wikipédia

Nota: Acima está essencialmente descrita a sua infância e adolescência, que foi o que mais me interessou, haverá mais informação relevante acerca da sua vida.

 

No último hotel em que fiquei nesta semana de férias, um solar em Bragança, estava um livro, cujo titulo não me recordo, com fotografias das várias regiões do Douro, e com excertos e poemas do Miguel Torga. Pouco sabia sobre este autor, pelo que fui pesquisar, a título da curiosidade. Achei a sua vida muito intrigante, é assustadora a mudança de paradigmas que ocorreu. Como as pessoas cresciam mais rápido antigamente! Imagine-se ir trabalhar aos 10 anos, emigrar aos 13 sem os pais para ir trabalhar, mesmo que com familiares... Achei ainda engraçadíssima a sua "constante insubmissão", este senhor parece ter sido uma pessoa muito inteligente e interessante!

10
Jun16

ramblings...

anpatriciaa

Às vezes as coisas que achamos menos importantes, aqueles hobbies com que gastamos o nosso tempo em vez de fazer "coisas úteis", aquelas nossas características que consideramos serem defeitos ou momentos que vivemos e que na altura consideramos banais, que acabam por ser o mais importante da nossa vida. É que é difícil ter uma visão da "big picture" quando ainda a estamos a desenhar...

 

1-heterochromia-iridum.jpg

 

fonte da imagem: desconhecida, estava numa das mil pastas do meu computador. (heterochromia iridum!)

21
Dez15

Shipwreck

anpatriciaa

"Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out. Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks."

 

(autor desconhecido)

08
Ago15

...

anpatriciaa

When we say things like "people don't change" it drives scientist crazy because change is literally the only constant in all of science. Energy. Matter. It's always changing, morphing, merging, growing, dying. It's the way people try not to change that's unnatural. The way we cling to what things were instead of letting things be what they are. The way we cling to old memories instead of forming new ones. The way we insist on believing despite every scientific indication that anything in this lifetime is permanent. Change is constant. How we experience change that's up to us. It can feel like death or it can feel like a second chance at life. If we open our fingers, loosen our grips, go with it, it can feel like pure adrenaline. Like at any moment we can have another chance at life. Like at any moment, we can be born all over again.

 

(Anatomia de Grey, S7E1)

13
Mar15

:)

anpatriciaa

"There's a story I heard of a man who fell in a hole and could not find his way out. A doctor came to see him, wrote a prescription, tossed it in the hole and moved on. A preacher came to see him, wrote a prayer, tossed it in the hole, and moved on. A friend came to see him and jumped in the hole. The guy says "What are you doing? Now we're both stuck." The friend says, "I've been here before, and I know the way out."

28
Jan15

Ao lado do "Anjo da Morte"

anpatriciaa

(...) "Em Auschwitz, Ella Lingens perdeu a dignidade, passou fome e frio. Regressou a Viena com o cabelo todo branco e foi um dos momentos mais duros da sua vida. "Soube que o meu marido, julgando-me morta, tinha casado com outra, o meu irmão tinha morrido, combatendo ao lado da Resistência, na Jugoslávia, a casa dos meus pais fora bombardeada. O meu filho não me reconheceu e os meus vestidos...", diz com um olhar fixo e um suspiro, "...estavam comidos pelas traças".

 

Tradução de Maria do Carmo Cary
Texto originalmente publicado no Expresso a 28 de janeiro de 1995, por ocasião do 50º aniversário da libertação de Auschwitz



Ler mais: http://expresso.sapo.pt/ao-lado-do-anjo-da-morte=f908176#ixzz3Q8uEQvjW

17
Jan15

Estádio ou estadio - uma dúvida que me atormentava há já algum tempo

anpatriciaa

«E porque é que o diagnóstico é, tantas vezes, feito num estado já avançado? Infelizmente porque a doença quando dá sintomas é num estadio já bastante avançado. Habitualmente em estadios já metastáticos [...]».

Entrevista à oncologista Ana Castro sobre as neoplasias do pâncreas, SIC Notícias, Edição da Manhã, 26 de março de 2014, 9h32

Além das duas vezes acima referenciadas, a palavra "estadio" foi repetida mais cinco no decurso da conversa. Ora, pelo menos dicionarizada, estádio, sem acento, não existe. O que existe é estádio, uma palavra proparoxítona e, como tal, acentuada na antepenúltima sílaba,  significando «fase» ou «etapa».

De realçar que o jornalista questionou a entrevistada sobre as razões pelas quais a doença – no caso o cancro do pâncreas – é quase sempre detetada num estado já avançado. Apesar de não serem sinónimas, ali pode estar indiferentemente estado ou estádio, porque o contexto semântico da frase assim o permite. A doença é diagnosticada numa fase (estádio) mais avançada, ou numa situação (estado) de gravidade já avançada.

Ainda que os dicionários de termos médicos que consultámos não a incluam, constata-se, porém, com alguma frequência, entre os oncologistas, o uso da palavra  "estadio" (aqui e aqui, por exemplo) com o mesmo significado de estádio, pelo que é possível que este "estadio" provenha de estadiamento (as diferentes fases de evolução do cancro), palavra por sua vez formada a partir do verbo estadiar. Não é ainda de excluir que na origem deste (mau) uso possa estar envolvida alguma analogia fonética com estadia e/ou até mesmo com pousio.

 

fonte: http://www.ciberduvidas.com/pelourinho.php?rid=2922

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