Green Pen in a White Book

To 2015, the year of the lion.

[greenpenwhitebook]

2016

The Day After.

Thank you.

A new year is come and I can’t help but feel grateful. Grateful for the amazing 365 days of inspiration that challenged me and made me better in every way. A better writer, for talent is born alone but can’t live without practice, and a better person, for each story touched the very bottom of my soul and would have come out tasteless if it was otherwise. I’m equally grateful to you, who took a few minutes to read even just one of my stories and made me feel like I mattered. A writer is made of readers. Thank you with all my heart. I now start a different journey, a new challenge. Equally as scary, but just as exciting. And I invite you to accompany me, not daily, but weekly. May all of you, readers and writers, have a 2016 full of passion, amazement and joy. And many other happenings to be thankful for one year from now. Write on! Follow new project here.

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Day 365.

Start the new year with a light heart.

I soothed my soul with tales of distant lands, unknown people and long living voices. I was unable to rescue the hungry and forgotten, but helped my kin as much as I could. I brought colour to black and white and saw it mix and match, but never destroy it. I sang more. I danced less. I had my heart broken, but glued the pieces together so the wound would not stay open, though it won’t cease to exist and hurt from time to time. I listened to absurdities and stayed silent. I spoke of love and kindness and was repressed. My selfishness rose and put these many “I”s at the beginning of my sentences, but my compassion grew to levels so high as to make me weep for stories not my own. And that was just one year amongst so many past me. And that was just one year before the many more I intent to live through. And thus the present vanishes for a day to remember the past. And thus the present vanishes for another day to give way to the future. But the year soon takes its course and is no longer new. It’s now.

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Day 364.

Rethink your selfish complaints.

Whenever you complain about the rain, there is a happy thirsty tree to which nothing could be better. Whenever you think ill of preferential service, there is a pregnant woman whose feet are killing her night and day secretly thanking you for understanding. Whenever you talk bad of all religious people, there is a poor orphan who lost his entire family in a car accident still standing up because of faith. Whenever you defend the killing of animals for human protection, there is an elephant with no say in the matter getting shot because it walked into a piece of land someone signed a paper and proclaimed their own. Whenever you miss the strict rules of old times, there is a young man happily married to the man he loves who would otherwise be dead for living his life or dying inside whilst still living. Think your opinions through.

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Day 363.

Look out for renewed opportunities.

I felt like a teenager again when I saw him enter the hotel. It took me back to years of waiting in line for concerts, listening to the same CD every morning in the shower and that one letter that made me resent my mother for months. Her friend worked at the production company that was taking care of a commercial he was shooting in town, so I spent two weeks kissing an interminable paper roll with all the different lipsticks I had for said friend to hand it to him. But she never got the letter, because someone forgot to bring it to her. Someone who gave birth to me and promised to look after me no matter what. I was devastated. Now, he comes to town over a decade after that and checks in at my hotel? I could not miss that opportunity. So I sneaked into his room minutes before he arrived and kissed his entire blanket. Is he going to find it thoughtful and sweet? Or is he actually going to make an angry complaint to the owner? I hope he does. I am the one who is going to talk to him and sort it out anyhow. Win-win situation, really.

[greenpenwhitebook]

Day 362.

Think ahead.

Marluce baked wedding cakes. They were simple and pretty and special and delicious. One day, a famous blogger ate her cake at his cousin’s wedding and posted about it. The more she got famous, the bigger the cakes got, the more expensive her services became and the less she had to work. Until, suddenly, someone twitted about how all of Marluce’s fancy clients had split up in less than a year and no one wanted her bad-luck cakes anymore. For a moment, she believed in the accusations and thought her hands were to blame for the couples’ unhappiness. Then, one day, she baked a cake all to herself. A cake like the ones she used to bake long before she became famous. It was simple and pretty and special and delicious. The reason why the new clients split up had nothing to do with Marluce’s cake. Or it did, actually. They were so worried about how perfect and expensive their wedding had to be that they forgot to build their marriage. Marluce got back in business, but not without a strict rule that limited the total budget of the clients’ wedding. Less is more.

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Day 361.

Slow down on your petty first world problems.

Her mother was desolate and kept throwing dramatic acts of self-commiseration. Her father said he would rather have a criminal daughter. Her boyfriend threatened to leave her for good. Her neighbours freely discussed the problem amongst them and unanimously judged her. She was going to destroy her life. She would never find another man. She should listen to them. Listen, listen, listen, obey, obey, obey. But she did it anyway. She went to the hairdresser and got bangs.

[greenpenwhitebook]

Day 360.

Improvise.

Mrs Donaughey, 32, widow. Number of employees: 40 - butler, gardener, cook, cleaning lady, personal nutritionist, personal trainer, personal stylist, personal secretary, personal hair and make-up guy, chauffeur, bodyguard, and so on. Freaks out when: the occasional nap occurs in the morning, employees get sick, unpredictable weather happens, unpredictable anything happens. Too young, too rich, too uptight and too scared. Personal lawyer and accountant advise her to investing money on risky business. Loses money on risky business. Faints. Wakes up. Improvises. Lives.

[greenpenwhitebook]

Day 359.

Walk with your own two feet.

Regis’ mother was very dedicated. Not only did she give birth to the boy, but she insisted upon choosing all his clothes, cooking all his meals, doing all his homework and deciding all his future. Regis grew older, but not up. There was nothing he could do before asking his mom for permission – or to do just it for him. But the universe is cruel and moms die. So Regis was left a motherless forty-year-old child. He had to learn it from the beginning, all the while suffering with the pitiless judgement of society. Our boy made it, though. He got himself a career, a companion, a house bought with his own money and, last but not least, he earned the respect of people he cared about. Plus others he didn’t, as a bonus. Nothing like walking with your own two feet.

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Day 358.

Pay attention to street signs.

Stanley considered himself quite the creative boy. Now, the problem with self-proclaimed titles is that they are not real. Taking a trip to Europe instead of going to university was his first creative attempt, but he did nothing there besides emptying his (father’s) pocket, as was expected. Then everybody advised him against marrying so young and with no stable job, but he chose to be creative and threw the party of the year for his wedding. He also threw his marriage on the dustbin two weeks later. Our boy Stanley’s most recent burst of creativity was taking a right when the street sign said left. He lost a tooth. And his car. And his license. Stanley, my friend, take this title we hereby present you with. Airhead. 

[greenpenwhitebook]

Day 357. Read a Christmas' classic. She woke up to the unmelodic song of the neighbour's old rooster and put her slippers on. The house was dead silent. Her book was waiting for her by the mantelpiece - he had remembered it. But there was something else, too. A note, saying "press play". She was too curious not to obey such mysterious orders, so she sat comfortably in her chair, turned the flames on and pressed play. A female voice said: "This is a podcast featuring Neil Gaiman reading 'A Christmas Carol', by Charles Dickens". Just look at that! She opened her own copy of the story and started reading along with the man, whose voice sounded much like her late husband's when he was young and read that same book aloud to her on Christmas morning for twenty years. He bad been gone for a long time now. Still, their beloved son would come to see his mama every year on the Holidays. There was a change of plans this time, though. He had just got married and his husband's family lived in the North, so they had to leave before the sun rose to arrive in time for the opening of presents there. Oh, well. You lose a day, you gain a new son. Besides, for the first time in years, she had a companion for her reading. "Bah! Humbug!", Mr Gaiman.

[greenpenwhitebook]

Day 356.

Make a child smarter.

If the parent thing was going to happen, of course I was going to do an experiment. The child could be whatever it pleased, as long as it wasn’t dumb. It could be dull, it’s not like one chooses to be dull. But dumbness was unforgivable. So Jules was born a Capricornian and learned how to walk, talk, read and write before all the other children I’ve personally known. Those were promising results. I first smuggled Kurt Vonnegut’s novel “Hocus Pocus” into her backpack when she was eight. Her dad had no idea. She got some of it, but very little. It was to be expected, though. Four years later, the experiment was redone. And it showed relevant improvement. Sarcasm was becoming clearer in her bright head. At sixteen, she read it again and “had to laugh like hell”, for she got most of it now. It was harder to laugh at twenty, when she got the full concept of the novel and was both shocked by the cruel and desperate reality of the world depicted in the book and amazed at the author’s genial writing. So I took Jules out to celebrate it. My daughter was smart. One less dumb ass on the planet, one more self-mocking creature to look at life with dry eyes. “How embarrassing to be human”.

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Day 355.

Learn how to make your favourite dish.

If you ask me my name or age I might take longer to answer than what my favourite dish is. Tapioca. Preferably with butter. Or margarine. Or cheese spread. Or... Focus, Ellie! So. I once went through a very tough situation. My wife decided to have our baby at home. As she was going through labour, I had the most uncontrollable urge of eating tapioca. It was three in the morning, there was no way I could find one in the streets. My favourite chef was having a baby and it would probably be very rude to ask her for help - although I did consider it for a while, after all she was the one who got me addicted to it right after we first moved to Brazil. It made me resent my child for a minute or two that she was responsible for the lack of tapioca in my belly. I almost named her that. Then I realised I was the idiot for not knowing how to make my favourite dish. First thing I did the next morning was learning the art. Now, two year later, I have perfected it to an extent as to not only allow me never to go through such dreadful forced abstinence hours again, but to be the official tapioca-woman of the house. Wife and daughter have since approved it, thank you very much.

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Day 354.

Make no predictions.

When Fanny was fifteen, she and her friends wrote what they wanted their lives to be like by the time they were dead. They folded it and buried it in a chest in the park. Fanny wanted to be a crime journalist and married with four children, living in a big apartment in the city. Her entire life, that wish held her back. She was so sure that was supposed to be her destiny, she kept ignoring all her actual wishes. She hated the city and everything about it. Her maternal instinct died every couple of weeks, along with the fishes she forgot to take care of. The thought of sharing a place (and especially a kitchen) with someone gave her the chills. For at least a decade now, cooking had become the thing she loved the most in life, a lot better than the news. Or a guy. She kept insisting on her old plans, faking half her heart and suppressing an entire sea of unhappiness, year after year. Only when she was finally unable to reproduce and fired from her miserable job did she throw her bucket list away and lived the way she wanted to. Meanwhile, Carrie, Ellen and Faye could not care less about the list. Carrie wrote she wanted to be an actress and became a lawyer. Ellen wrote she wanted to be a nun and gave birth to seven children, each from a different man. And Faye, who secretly wrote she wanted to marry Fanny and live forever in their town together, gave up on that sad woman and travelled the world like Fanny took the bus. Poor, sadly held back Fanny.

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Day 353.

Invest some time in the presents you give, don’t just buy something.

Meadow never brought presents to birthday parties. Every Christmas, she would refuse to join Secret Santas or Yankee Swaps, although she did put a couple of presents under the tree sometimes - and sometimes only. As you read this, you might find Meadow cheap, but that’s not the case. In fact, she was the best gift-giver in the history of middle-class. The thing with Meadow was she loved the liberty of spontaneously bumping into something that would make a great present for someone she knew and buying it at the spot. Her next move was to invest a long time into making the package that would wrap that perfect gift. And she would almost cry with joy at the sight of you unwrapping and truly loving it. She was always spot on. And her methods were dead right. Meadow also took a special day, around Christmas time, to visit most of the people she knew and ask for things that were out of use and still in good condition that they would like to give away. She would then wrap each and every single one of the donated items and distribute them amongst unprivileged people all over town. How cheap do you find her now?

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Day 352.

Make your own decorations for once.

By the time I was born, my bedroom had been all set for over three months. My parents were the ones to pick the yellow walls, the strawberry paintings and at least half of the several stuffed animals. As a teenager, I shared the room with my sister, so we were forbidden to touch anything in order to avoid yet another of our constant silly fights. Moving forward to uni time, the fees were particularly expensive, so I had to rent a tiny room in an old house whose owner did not allow even minimal decorations. For three years I stared at those brown walls and felt like dying. Right after I graduated, I moved in with my girlfriend, who already had a place in the city, so all the stuff there was hers. Making an effort not to freak out, I decided to take things slow. My first big step was to decorate our first Christmas tree together, hanging miniatures of the covers of our favourite books, which I myself arranged. Then I re-did our kitchen, turning everything black and white, from walls to cutlery. My first office was next, then the rear garden. After so many years of suppressed unknown passion, I got addicted to decorating. And my forthcoming project is our baby’s nest. But I’ll let her decide most of it. She’s three and her creativity is beaming brighter than the sun. She won’t need to wait.

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Day 351.

Watch every single Star Wars film there is.

Leo was an optimistic guy. He knew an almost forty-year old tradition could not be handled carelessly and would not by any means be destroyed. But there was that tiny nervous vein that pulsed above every positive cell, threatening to put all confidence down. Day after day, he told himself to keep calm, things would turn out fine. Better than fine, they would turn magnificent. Because legends deserve no lesser treatment. After so many agonising months, the day was finally come. His mind seemed to have stayed behind. He was all heart as he arrived there. And it beat fast, fast, fast, fast, fast, fast, fast. The adrenaline was so high he almost fainted as the time came to face the majestic words. “A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away”. And he finally breathed again. All was fine, the tradition remained untouched. And the force had finally awoken.

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Day 350.

Find your own way to peace of mind.

They tried to handle my anxiety by sending me to support groups. When that made no difference, I was sent to the country. But it turns out peace cannot be eaten, nor caught like a flu. So they made an interminable list and made the whole problem a degree higher. Then they momentarily gave up. And in that one afternoon they took to think about the next step I ran away. I went bowling. For some people, tranquillity is the cure to anxiety. For me, it’s winning. I don’t know anyone who’s better at bowling than me. I rock. I know I cannot be beaten and that gives me confidence. And I win. And it makes me happy and not anxious at all. But I could not bring myself to tell them that. So I just ran away when I managed to. And was anxious the rest of the time. Still am.