Metaphor

Levou um tempinho, mas finalmente terminei a tradução para inglês do texto "Metáfora". Divirtam-se na teia de meus pensamentos que hoje estão muito mais claros e desembaralhados! ;o)

I am writing because I have this strange feeling in my heart. I feel I'm about to implode with sadness, but at the same time to burst with joy. Those controversial feelings cause me the same physiological reaction. The sweet tears that stream down my face when I'm very happy are the bitter ones that flow when I'm sad.

My process of "uprooting" brought me many good things and also many bad things. I moved away from family, good friends (my best pieces that tolerate me for years), my best addictions (some became worse), yet it threw me in the world, in life and this is giving me great lessons of self-knowledge and maturity that I never imagined happening. Yeah, I thought I knew everything about life and about me, guess what!, I didn’t know a third of the fourth part of half of the infinity line.

Uproot means, lexically speaking, pluck the roots (of a tree), transport it to another place, take care and hope it survives. I've gone through the stage hope-it-survives; I am in the beginning of a more advanced stage, the stage to live. Living the new differences, new developments, the sorrows, joys, the old, the interesting, the unusual... My life has been like that and I want it to continue for a long time. I do not want to be that kind of person I used to be, I want to be this 3.4 turbo version with even more open mind and heart with more sedimentary feelings, always ready to create new places to put together the pieces that come from other people. Some of them I haven’t even met, but they give me so much and so lovingly, that I can’t avoid not keeping them in my places. The bits of me left behind still have their place in the rooms, but nostalgia always tightens the chest as if it were strangling, crushing, suffocating! Then, someone comes in and drops a little the knot of the rope, it helps to take the hands off the neck and the chest rises and falls breathing relieved. Blessed technology!

I feel part of a metaphor, where their essence is the essence of itself by itself. Complicated? No, that's life! Living is a constant "to metaphor" where we, only we, can color our own scenery. We have the freedom to give the colors we want, how we want, when we want and the way we want. Living is to puff out our chest and say, "Come, I'm ready".