«Itsy Bitsy Spider»...

I'm not quite sure whether I really decided it; the truth is that I've spent almost the whole Sunday going through my memories trunk. I know, sometimes it's not such a good idea… Memories are quite powerful indeed, and one can never be sure of which sleeping beasts he may be about to wake up and set free. I think I was willing to run the risk, at least at first. Well, I eventually got far too many «clouds in my coffee»…

Everything started with a book I wanted to finish reading no matter what.
Heavy stuff on one hand; on the other, one of the most beautifully written, touching, poignant pieces of literary artistry I've read in recent times. By the brother (Daniel) of our previous President of the Republic (Jorge Sampaio), who is an adolescent psychiatrist, the book deals with all the imaginable experiences of a boy trying to find himself, his sexual preferences, his place among his friends and schoolmates, in his family, and his relationship with his parents, especially his mother, a kind, understanding but disappointed, overprotective woman. When he becomes 22, when his mother has finally understood what he is and that he is happy sharing his life with his first boyfriend whom she finally comes to like as another son, when she realises that her son won't ever stop loving her and cherishing that very special relationship between the two of them that had begun the minute she knew she was pregnant with him, he dies in a car accident. Both had still so much to say to each other…

«Vagabundos de Nós» («Vagabonds of Ourselves», literally) is its title.

Music has always been my best companion since… Never mind that now. As I went on reading, the chosen music began to shift back in time. First Depeche Mode, then Madonna and Pet Shop Boys (1994), Matt Bianco, and when I realised what was happening I was listening to Carly Simon (Live at Gay Head, Massachusetts, a long time ago). Yes, marvellous songs, all of them.

This is something I have to deal with quite seriously. More than anything else music has always had a strong influence on me, my moods, the way I deal with my memories, but nothing compares to the overwhelming power it has been gaining these last few years. I get too easily out of control as if it had become impossible for me to restrain my emotions. (Writing this post is getting harder and harder all the time.) What's somehow bewildering is the fact that I've never been sentimental, not even when I «should», I guess. And this is all the more disturbing as it's beginning to happen when I'm reading (at a café, as I'm used to ever since), watching a movie (in a movie theatre) or listening to a concert...

I'm really getting scared, because one thing's for sure: for as long as I live I'll always have to deal with my memories. As anyone else, for all that matters. That has never been an easy task for me, but now it's becoming disruptive of my shaky balance. Another thing's for sure: I won't become a cry‑baby without a good fight. I only hope to find all that strength I need inside myself. (And, no, I'm not crying anymore even if Carly Simon goes on singing… Enough is enough.)

… «I know nothing stays the same», but everythig's often so very difficult…