To Lea Lipková (1980-2009)

MY WOMAN, MY GIRLFRIEND, DIED. THIS BLOG HAS REACHED AN END.

Me and Lea met last September in Latvia in a meeting of Youth Program. We immediately liked each other. She was coming out from a relationship and it happened… We always were together in that meeting, and I felt we were destined to something.

I went to visit her in Slovakia last Christmas. I spent with her Christmas and new years’ day. Love happened again. It hadn’t stayed in Latvia, it was true and real and I should never have returned to Portugal… I will never forget everybody waiting for me inside the bus to Bratislava, and me outside with Lea, holding each other in silence.

We were planning to be together in May, and we talked about living together somewhere. That was her idea and I wanted to. I love Lea, Lea loved me, and the last message she sent me on the day before she died was so beautiful and full of hope. “I want to be with you and just love you” were her last words to me, and I will keep those and everything else with me forever.

Tonight I dreamt with Lea! We started kissing as we used to do, without limits, and I woke up kissing my own arm. I suppose it’s only starting. I suppose the worse is yet to come, but I want the world to know how she loved me and that I will always love her.

In a few weeks I will go to Banská Bystrica to visit her, to say so long to my little princess. I also want to visit her family, which I love so much. I need to hug her mother. Now she’s my mother too.

Lea died Saturday, 31st of January, around 18.00 in a car crash. She was on the back seat and died on location. I won’t write here no more. This blog has come to an end. Thank you all.

Dakujem Lea, môj laska, ja prisf neskoro ty...

Adeus Lea

(Para a Lea Lipková, minha querida mulher, com uma saudade que me desfaz. 5/1/1980 – 31/1/2009)

Abro a porta uma última vez. Convido a entrar?

Eu sou um ser antigo. Pouco consigo esquecer de tudo o que vi, do muito que senti, do exagero de tudo o que disse e fui forçado a ouvir. O mundo, este mundo, entrou-me pelos olhos adentro como raios de sol em África em cheio no despertar de um bêbedo. Abri a boca como se horas tivessem passado desde a última vez que havia inspirado, e a vida entrava-me de rompante, rebentando com tudo cá dentro à passagem, como uma massa compacta de água nos últimos segundos da vida de um náufrago. Convidei a entrar?

Abro a porta e vejo-me lá, ao longe, de calções de xadrez e sorriso sujo de criança. Vejam! E lá estou ao longe a flutuar, longe da costa. Como cresci, meu Deus! Já não uso mais os calções de xadrez. Agora visto-me apenas de garrafas de cerveja e ocasionais shots de vodka, calças por vezes rasgadas, um sentir frequentemente magoado de tudo…

Para lá da porta aberta existe ainda este país, que desde muito jovem sonhei deixar para trás e assim, longe, talvez lhe poder sentir a falta. Nada mudou aqui. Foram décadas e o essencial ficou, como amontoados da mesma merda seca espalhada pelas ruas. Convido-me a sair, mas não vou já. Só mais uns minutos por favor.

Para lá da porta aberta está também tudo o que sou agora, aqui. De braços caídos como o derradeiro idiota, colados de lado ao corpo, não evito sorrir ao ver os que me acompanharam até chegar a este sítio. Mãe, pai, pedia-vos que fugissem, mas não acredito haver já nada para vocês noutro lugar. Perdoem-me. Se me mostrarem um dia o contrário prometo ficar feliz. Mas por agora venham, entrem na casa e esperem-me na sala. Eu volto.

Sigo mais para dentro. Sei que por aqui, algures numa divisão mais recôndita, há ainda alguém que preciso recordar, inevitavelmente passando ao lado das centenas de pessoas que me marcaram e a quem tiro desde já o meu chapéu, ainda que nunca tenha sido meu hábito usá-lo.

Vou abrindo portas atrás de portas. Uma após outra até que te encontro! Numa sala repleta de claridade, submersa num lindo sol de inverno, estás sentada no chão encostada a um velho sofá castanho, e olhas-me com um sorriso triste. Aqui mesmo te juro que nunca te esquecerei assim! O sol que entra pela janela atrás de ti faz explodir em vermelho os teus cabelos ruivos. Lenta, sorrindo triste, antiga como eu, penteias-te com a mão direita enquanto a outra agarra esses cabelos longos em jeito de rabo-de-cavalo. Depois paras, olhando-me, e pousas a escova no chão ao teu lado. Aproximo-me de ti, baixo-me para te passar a mão pelos cabelos, para te beijar o rosto e a testa, para te pedir desculpa por não te poder entregar a minha pele e a minha cor. E ficas assim, com o sol por trás enquanto penso em como dizer adeus, de ombros caídos e braços colados aos lados do corpo como o supremo pateta que sempre me habituei a ser. Convidas-me a ficar?

Volto-me para a saída. Não olho para trás por medo e saio da sala recôndita com o sinal vermelho aceso por cima da porta de entrada. Ao fundo do corredor lá estou eu distante, calções de xadrez, flutuando cada vez mais longe da costa num mar de leite magro e sem sabor. Como cresci! E é então que começo a correr, em silêncio, em direcção à porta de saída cada vez mais distante. Sinto apenas suor e o bater descoordenado do meu coração, enquanto a vegetação vai crescendo pelas paredes atrás de mim, à minha volta, à minha frente… Os meus passos mergulham já nas águas que invadem o chão da casa. Sinto apenas a tua falta e este angustiante cheiro a verde e a terra. Fecho a casa para nunca mais voltar.

Amo-te Lea.

Once upon a time in Slovakia

(To Lea Lipková, forever my princess)

Once upon a time, so many centuries ago, there was a castle near the Low Tatras in Slovakia where a beautiful princess lived with her father. She was bright and beautiful, and every day, at dusk, she came to the window of her room to comb her beautiful long red hair, and she sang… One of those days, when the sun was almost setting behind the mountains, spreading the last orange rays over the earth, she came to the window as usual, singing, and she started combing her magnificent red hair. As she was looking to the horizon, far away, she saw a little black dot in the sky over the snowy mountains. She kept staring at that strange black dot and she realized it was growing slowly, and then faster, and faster, until it wasn’t a black dot no more. It looked like some sort of bird, and she smiled. But suddenly she realized it wasn’t a bird! Oh, no! It was growing too much to be a bird, and she felt a chill down her spine. When she realized what it really was she ran away inside her room to hide behind her closet. But, at the same time, she was terribly curious. She could hear the flapping of his wings outside, around her tower, and also the screaming of the villagers. Yes, it was a dragon! A big, black, scary and lonely dragon was outside, surrounding her castle and being hit by her father archers. She had heard about them, but never actually seen one. For some minutes she could hear all the noise and screaming outside, but eventually he went away, leaving the place silent as it was before.

Next day, as usual, she went to comb her hair again at the window at dusk, and again she saw the little black dot on the horizon, over the mountains. Again she fled inside, but this time her curiosity made her take a peek. And that was when she saw the dragon’s beautiful brown eyes, tender, gentle, sweet, looking at her as he tried to escape the arrows! She even smiled a little, but then she ran away inside, until again she could hear no murmurs anymore. He was gone once more! And the next day again it happened, and the day after, and the other one. And the princess grew attached to that dragon, she sat at the window combing her hair and smiling at him while he escaped the arrows and rocks… He was gentle to her, and she could tell he loved her deeply! Until one day her father called her to say he decided to marry her with some count of the region who claimed he would kill the dragon as a sign of appreciation and as a wedding gift for her father and the villagers. She was in panic! That could not happen! She didn’t want to marry no count, and especially she didn’t want the dragon killed. She realized she loved him too for all his constant visits at dusk when she was so alone… What could she do? What?

The days went on and the dragon kept coming, and she told him about his fathers’ intentions. He was very sad. She was going to marry? But she told him she didn’t want to, and also that she was falling in love with him… He smiled, full of passion, and gave a strong roar that chilled the entire valley and went straight up into the mountains. But then the day of the wedding came, and the count arrived at the castle with all his court and a huge machine to kill the dragon. The girl was in panic, and she kept crying the all day. The dragon didn’t show up, and she didn’t knew what to do no more. She didn’t wanted marry, but all the ceremony was ready and set for that evening. The count was outside by his machine, waiting, looking at the horizon. She didn’t knew if she wanted the dragon to come and take her from there, or if he should stay away not to be killed. She was anxious! But as always, at dusk, the dragon came from the mountains. First a small black dot, and then growing over the land and the ones who were waiting to kill him, he came. And he came in full power spreading flames everywhere he could see a threat. And before the count could set his machine on him he took the princess from her window for good, and no-one from that region has ever see them both again. Some travelers, years later, reported that they were still living together up in the High Tatras mountains and that they even had descendants already. And so the story went on…

Nowadays in Slovakia, in the very same village, there is still a girl who combs her red hair looking at the mountains at dusk. She doesn’t expect a dragon no more, that time is well gone now. She expects everyday an airplane. First a little dot on the horizon over the snowy mountains, and then its wings glowing from the last rays of light. Each day she expects the plane that can bring her love to her forever. Maybe, just maybe, she is a princess too. And, although not likely, maybe one day her dragon will come.

(Photography: Banska Bystricá, Slovakia, December 26th, 2008 / Text: Coimbra, Portugal, January 15th, 2009)

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What happened to Edna?

It was just another cold day with temperatures reaching 17º below zero. But it was just like so many other freezing days in there. It was sunny, though, with a completely clear blue sky. It was one of those days when people had to wear sunglasses to protect their eyes from the brightness of sunrays reflecting in the snow. The sun was especially painful that day. For some instants, several of the friends and old acquaintances reunited there - some after being away from each other for many years - took off the sunglasses to wipe away some tears. But immediately they'd put them on again, for protection, against the sun and exposure to too much emotion. I had put mine back too, although tears kept coming.

All the brightness of that day was in total disagreement with that event, or with what each of us felt about it. A little farther, away from the group but at eyes reach, near a small garden, some of our children played with the snow, totally indifferent to our black procession, totally unaware of what it meant to each one of us. My kids had stayed home with a cousin. Only my wife and me had come, because I didn’t want them to notice Edna’s picture on the cemetery gates. Edna had left us here: it was just like that. She decided to abandon us to our own fortunes after so many years, although all of us loved her so, in so many ways, for so many years. So there we were finally, at the end of one more road, paying our last respects. She had let go of the rope and our boats begun sailing away by themselves.

Just two weeks ago I had been at her place with my family, for one of those Sunday lunches that last throughout the whole day and into the night. We talked for hours about research projects and the necessary funds that should be raised, about our next holidays, about our day-to-day lives and worries. My kids were growing fast and she loved teasing and provoking them, and they loved her like a grandmother for all the cinnamon biscuits she made and all the love and respect she devoted them ever since they were born. As usual, we ended up remembering old days of when she was my teacher, and of how sometimes I got into her nerves. Of course by then I was the centre of all the jokes, and had to put up with mockery coming even from my own kids. I remember she having even said she was thinking about taking a trip to Namibia next summer, to visit an old friend of hers who had went to live there many years ago. It was a simple, normal Sunday, and everything was just OK. Life was where it was supposed to be and nothing could predict what would come later.

It was winter, just a winter like so many others in our lives. I would get up in the morning for a shower every day, followed by my wife, who would prepare some coffee, and then as my wife showered I would wake the children up and give them breakfast and prepare them for school. The kids were growing fast and healthy, full of energy, and my marriage was a very good one. We would get out everyday for work, me for the publishing house and my wife for the elementary school where she was a teacher, and we lived our lives like that, happily, peacefully. Everything was all right, or maybe not. Maybe it was just our way of not caring too much with the conditions of our lives, not caring about little details. We all know that sometimes too many questions can be suffocating and exhausting. Too many considerations can be a burden, and in a way maybe our lives are lived for the most part with the autopilot on, human intervention being required only in specific emergency occasions. The thing is we don’t have any device to warn us with a siren when something begins to go wrong with our lives, or with the lives of our loved ones, of our friends, colleagues, or simply strangers passing us by on the street. And sometimes when we realise there is a problem it's already too late to change the course of events. In other occasions, when we suspect something might not be the way it should be, people tend to dissimulate, they tend to hide feelings and emotions and just say everything is just fine when in fact it is not. We feel, we think things over, we imagine and dream about the future, we have conscience of our actions and surroundings, and therefore it is inevitable to be affected by this world, by specific circumstances of our daily lives and existences. To be alive is to be permeable to outer and inner conditions. We interact constantly with so many factors that it eventually causes us to suffer. And we also suffer sometimes for not having someone who could listen to what we have to say, someone who could understand, although we try less and less to communicate with others. We just have to be strong and deal with our own idiosyncrasies and problems by ourselves, trying not to bother others around us so much with our petty existences. I can also see myself in this wide picture. I’m so far from perfection… Maybe things I should have told others I left to be said and kept them to myself. And what good did it made me? None whatsoever. But I think we’re all like that, although this is far from being an excuse. What I mean is that it’s not just me, and I can’t be responsible for all bad things in this world. But that doesn't make this feeling go away...

The thing is that Edna is gone now, and nobody really knows or understands why. What happened to Edna? In all the faces attending the funeral I recognize old friends, old colleagues from school, old teachers… I see their families in there too. I look at my wife, I think of my kids, and in a very devious way I feel kind of happy to be here in this world, to be allowed to remain for some more time. Having said that, let me just say that all of us cried today, even in the absence of tears. No one knows why she gave up. No one saw any sign. But in all of us I realize now how much love we can expect from life: nothing bigger than the love Edna had for us all.

(Photography: Hronsek, Slovakia, December 30th, 2008 / Text: Coimbra, Portugal, January 14th, 2009)

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A clown

(To Lea Lipková, forever my princess)

Now as I walk my feet don't touch the ground no more! I'm a clown. By now everybody knows that I love you...

(Photography: Banska Stiavnica, Slovakia, December 28th, 2008 / Text: Coimbra, Portugal, January 14th, 2008)

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Where the heart is

(To Lea Lipkova, forever my Princess)

If you think we’re far apart, and that everything is much too impossible for our unprepared hands and eyes, look closer, my love... If, at night, you dream of the time I used to be there lying by your side, and you resting your face on my chest, and our hands travelling through each others’ bodies, just to awake suddenly in the dark, lonely, cold, look closer... If you remember all those kisses and conversations, of holding hands in the snow and all those emotions, just look closer, hold on... Try to think of all the distance separating us as a measure of what we feel, because what we feel for each other is so real that we will not be this distant forever. It couldn’t be easy for us... Look closer! I’m in you. It’s like with real snow, I just know I will feel it over me one day...

(Photography: Banska Bystricá, Slovakia, December 26th, 2008 / Text: Coimbra, Portugal, January 10th, 2008)

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Don’t tell me who I am

(To Lenore)

Tell me what to do now, and how to do it. Help me understand things I always found quite difficult. How should I behave to be better? What does this world expects from me? How can I do you good? Give me a hand, because I need to get along in public. Show me the way home, and what should I go home to. Who’s there? Explain me what love is and how can I reach it. And if I do how can I know it, and what to do from that moment on.
What should I do? How can I do it? What for? Teach me who I am and why and what for and why that way and not some other... Hold my hand. Get to know me. Believe in me and make me understand why you do. Be here. Don’t give up. Maybe I can’t do it on my own.

(Photography: Tomar, Portugal, November of 2008 / Text: Coimbra, Portugal, December 5th, 2008)

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Love scene

For many, many years, we’ve been around. Many times we got together in different places in this world without planning it. And when that happened we had coffee, we had lunch, we had dinner and we made love. The decision of leaving home was shared, and both of us closed all windows, locked all doors, picked up our luggage and just went away in different directions. When you went south I went north, when I went east you went west. Always with a smile in our eyes, always remembering…

He came out from the sea that night and I was waiting in the wind with some towel to clean him up.

From time to time I called home. Although no one was there to answer the phone it felt good knowing that, in that dark room, far away, the familiar sound of the phone could be heard. My heart felt appeased.

He came down from the mountains that morning and I was there in the snow with a coat to keep him warm.

It was a long journey the one we’ve made. We weren’t running from anything. We weren’t tired of each other. There was nothing more precious in this world. We just wanted to meet unexpectedly in strange lands, have exquisite meals, feel our hearts beating hard at the sight of each other in Rome, Johannesburg, Calcutta, Macao… We loved so much the fact of being alive. I loved you so much that I’ve desired to keep falling in love with you, in strange lands, with strange colours, in the sun or under rain, at night, during day, in all four seasons, in all continents. And whenever I saw you there it was! There it was! I knew why I was here in this world: to ask you whom you were, to invite you to do something, to see you smiling and embracing me once more with laughter. To fall in love with you…

He came out from the train that evening and there I was to help him with the luggage and take him home, where we’ll always belong.

(Photography: Tomar, Portugal, November 1st, 2008 / Text: Tomar, Portugal, November 5th, 2008)

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