She supported her sweaty head with her hands, trying desperately to figure out a solution.
'There is no way out.' - she cried - 'Absolutely no way out.'
She stood up looking blankly, then, she slowly bent over to pick up a pack of cigarettes that had fallen from her husband's pocket and lit one.
She took the time savior it - it had been a long time since she smoked one of these babies. She thought how incredible a single roll of paper with some tobacco leaves could be so bloody amazing. Tiny bits of cancerous matter came filling up her lungs, she thought, but she did not care a single bit.
She expelled the smoke lazily, tasting every bit of it, remembering her times working as a waitress on a shady bar. 'I did everything except waiting tables.' - she laughed.
She left the ashes fall on the floor, something that she would never, ever have the guts to do before, then, after smoking that cigar, she tossed its remains to the floor too.
'I feel so liberated!'
She stretched lustfully on the kitchen's stiff chair as if she was in the most comfortable place on Earth, than, jumping off that cold chair, she tiptoed around the kitchen, looking around. The only light was a small faint red one from her charging cellphone, but that tiny little light seemed to have the strength to fill up the whole small crowded kitchen, and bizarre reflections of red scattered from the refrigerator to the broken oven.
'There is no way out, though.' - she said smiling.
She looked over to the clock, luckily, it was 2 AM in the morning. 5 hours until the sunrise, 5 hours to clean up a mess, 5 hours to dispose of a adult male body.
15/02/09
Prologue
the weak rays of light shredded abruptly through the shadows. what seemed so dark and still suddenly became violently nitid and pure pitch black had been replaced by shades of gray and painful reflections. It was time to wake up.
'I'm tired.' - he opened his eyes.
'So tired.' - he slipped his frail, dying branches of an anemic tree, painted with spots and dots of liver, legs out of bed.
'Tired.' - he rose.
He glanced around. It had been almost a week since he last left that place, exactly after being plunged out of his 20 year job. 'Personnel cuts...' they said. 'Times of crisis... I'm sure, you of all these people, understand this.'
He understood alright. After all, he was the son of one of the greatest business man in history. Exactly 504 factories throughout the country, millions of employers and absurd amounts of cash flow. Aside from expensive toys, priceless education, absent father and drunk mother, what he could most remember was the Head offices of Steelwork. That austere and imponent building planted right between a small commercial establishment and a coffee shop that ended up closing was unforgettable, maybe for the long weekends he had spend there, or for the fights he listened between his parents, maybe it was the look of everyone upon him - he did not know for sure. Something had stroked forever in his memory, thought. It was the end of another week day and he had just completed his homework. He decided that staying put waiting to go home was a waste of time, so he snick out of one of the empty meeting rooms - where he would do his homework - and proceeded to the last level of that building. As the elevator opened and he set his foot outside, he heard some moaning noises. He felt excited.
Walking as light feathers through the cemented floor, he ended up in front of a open room, in which, he only took a small glance.
At that time, he did not comprehend. He saw his father - that austere marble looking figure - on top of a beautiful woman. But this time, his father was different. He panted and whispered things to this woman, as she moaned with the strangest noises. A scenery of a carnal festival had been layed into this boy's innocent eyes.
He stepped back, confused. He glanced around aimless and he saw a door leading to the roof top. He followed that.
Looking down to the streets, humans seemed small as ants, all rushing together in a mass of sloppy society. He wondered why were they rushing--
But what we could not understand was how did he ended up becoming such a failure. What happened in between this brilliant kid and this unemployed ex-factory worker? What had gone so terribly wrong, that the most prominent kid in god knows where had ended up becoming such. a. failure.
He looked puzzled at his empty small apartment and he sat on the floor, weeping.
'I'm tired.' - he opened his eyes.
'So tired.' - he slipped his frail, dying branches of an anemic tree, painted with spots and dots of liver, legs out of bed.
'Tired.' - he rose.
He glanced around. It had been almost a week since he last left that place, exactly after being plunged out of his 20 year job. 'Personnel cuts...' they said. 'Times of crisis... I'm sure, you of all these people, understand this.'
He understood alright. After all, he was the son of one of the greatest business man in history. Exactly 504 factories throughout the country, millions of employers and absurd amounts of cash flow. Aside from expensive toys, priceless education, absent father and drunk mother, what he could most remember was the Head offices of Steelwork. That austere and imponent building planted right between a small commercial establishment and a coffee shop that ended up closing was unforgettable, maybe for the long weekends he had spend there, or for the fights he listened between his parents, maybe it was the look of everyone upon him - he did not know for sure. Something had stroked forever in his memory, thought. It was the end of another week day and he had just completed his homework. He decided that staying put waiting to go home was a waste of time, so he snick out of one of the empty meeting rooms - where he would do his homework - and proceeded to the last level of that building. As the elevator opened and he set his foot outside, he heard some moaning noises. He felt excited.
Walking as light feathers through the cemented floor, he ended up in front of a open room, in which, he only took a small glance.
At that time, he did not comprehend. He saw his father - that austere marble looking figure - on top of a beautiful woman. But this time, his father was different. He panted and whispered things to this woman, as she moaned with the strangest noises. A scenery of a carnal festival had been layed into this boy's innocent eyes.
He stepped back, confused. He glanced around aimless and he saw a door leading to the roof top. He followed that.
Looking down to the streets, humans seemed small as ants, all rushing together in a mass of sloppy society. He wondered why were they rushing--
But what we could not understand was how did he ended up becoming such a failure. What happened in between this brilliant kid and this unemployed ex-factory worker? What had gone so terribly wrong, that the most prominent kid in god knows where had ended up becoming such. a. failure.
He looked puzzled at his empty small apartment and he sat on the floor, weeping.
13/02/09
#11 Small things
Today I was pretty emo but since it's almost Valentine's day, my
Humiliation for both sides. And of course, this wouldn't be complete without a stupid unfunny remark: I guess that newton's 3rd law of motion also applies here.
GAHAHAH.
Not.
10/02/09
23 random facts
1. My room is currently really, really messy.
2. I'm starting to listen to gigantic amounts of the so called "indie" music... Proving again that "indie is the new in".
3. Han is my third name! Few people call me Han and it sounds weird to be called Han. My first name is "Maria", the typical Portuguese name. Oh, the irony!
4. When I was a kid I was much much more brave and I didn't mind doing weird gymnastic stuff.
5. I do a full slit without any effort.
6. When I was young, I really wanted to do Karate but my parents made me do ballet.
7. Now I really want to do Taekwondo, Muya Tai or Kravmaga.
8. I hate to start a sentence with "I" but strangely, that happens too often.
9. Painting is my alter ego's profession.
10. I sing really BADLY. Like, really badly. I have no idea why I'm on the choir. Seriously. I think I sound like Merzbow, in a bad way.
11. Mike Patton is completely amazing. I secretly wish I was like him.
12. I still want a huge tree house. (and I will always want!)
13. British accent sounds really cool but I prefer to talk with americans because they are more *understandable* (does this make any sense?). But my favourite accent is english spoken by a french!
14. I imagine myself in 5 years as the most LEGEN
wait of it
DARY person ever.
The lifestyle I want is the one so called "always on the go", in which mostly: my whole life can be fitted into a suitcase and travel towards all globe.
15. I make too many -unfunny- jokes.
16. 99% of the photos I am in, I am making a weird expression... Including my passport photo.
17. Talking about my passport, it has expired! On January! Shame! I really need to change it...
18. I quote Immanuel Kant too often.
19. Once upon the time, I could actually watch an episode of anime without subtitles and understand the whole thing. And I also wrote a short story - a page lol - in Japanese.
20. Melpo Mene, the band, is just so good. SO GOOD. SO GOOD.
21. Once upon the time, I would only read Dostoevsky and look at books like Harry Potter and weep "OH, THE HUMANITY".
22. I want to sing/play music in a train station.
23. Guitarists are so, so, so, so awesome.
04/02/09
What?So while doing some Physics exercises, I noticed that for instance, you have a very small hole and a certain amount of volum of water coming out, you can reach high velocities (CAPTAIN OBVIOUS TO THE RESCUE, wait I'm not finished). So, if you have the mass of the water and you calculate the momentum and then the variation of momentum, you can get the force. Wait for it. After you get the force you calculate the area of, say, a very small circle (the exit of the hose) and you get the pressure.
WAIT, then, you google something like: "fracture bones maximum amount of pressure threshold" or something, and you get yourself a bone fracturing HOSE. OH YEAH.
Does this make ANY sense?
You know, it's a tad late so I'm half asleep. I shall think about this tomorrow when I'm less sleepy.
Anyway.
I've got a translator for 50€ full service. WINRAR.
I'm still poor but hey, 200€ to 50€ is a good improvement. =')
03/02/09
#9
Let's see. So today I took a gigantic nap because I was feeling seriously tired... And when I woke up, I still wanted to sleep - phail!
I also sat down and STUDIED high school Physics. That's new.
I'm also trying to get some documents into translation (Portuguese to English) and I'm pretty much going: WHAT!?!?!? Because it's SO DAMN EXPENSIVE (at least 120€ for 4 pages...)! Here I am applying for Financial Aid and I need to pay about 250€ to gather up the materials. Pure, pure genius.
And my TOEFL results are coming out in 3 days.
What?
I want to go to University so baaaad! Until then, I must keep on trying to study. And question: Is it bad to, in the middle of an explanation, blurt out random facts about gravitation and theories that aren't taught in High School but are the most "current" stuff? Well, I kind of fear that my teacher will go: "YEAH THEN YOU COME HERE AND GIVE THE CLASS MISS SMARTYPANTS." - and that would totally be awesome... Or not.
I'm seriously sleepy and wait, multitasking is awesome.
I've "saved" 40min because while I was watching Torchwood - It is horrible that I find Captain Harkness completely awesome? - I was also exercising. WIN!
"Hello I look like mister plastic and I'm totally not reading that CT scan."I'd photoshop this pic but my computer is SLOW.
02/02/09
My private diary transcript!Po
" Cheguei ao Picoas Plaza pela manhãzinha, como quem diz, pelas 9 e tal da manhã – cerca de 35 minutos antes do previsto. (denote-se, portanto, a minha imensa paranóia de chegar atrasada.)
Chegado ao local, deparei-me com meia dúzia de esplanadas vazias.
“Bolas, não sei como é o senhor.”
Basicamente, sempre que passava um senhor com cara de “XXXXXX-Isso-querias-tu!”, que, sendo um nome normal e português, encaixava em qualquer espécimen com pêlos faciais, melhor, do sexo masculino, o pensamento: “z0mg. Sera, sera?”, num sotaque espanhol, ressoava-me pela cabeça. Tanto quanto sabia, podia ter 12 anos e ser um enfant terrible – algo que achei bastante engraçado e assustador – como ter 65 anos – algo que também achei bastante assustador e engraçado.
.
Bom, eventualmente sentei-me numa esplanada a ler Atlas Shrugghed, à espera que o relógio mudasse para as 9.55 - 5 minutos antes da hora combinada - com o propósito de mandar uma mensagem a dizer o nome do café, para não parecer muito estranha por estar lá 30 minutos antes.
Verdade se diga, não sei se li muito. Entre parágrafos lá olhava para o telemóvel a ver as horas. Sei que a Dagny – protagonista do livro – se encontrava num comboio e que ia ter com o cientista que trabalhava com ela para descobrir o funcionamento daquele motor electroestático, e acabara de pedir jantar para dois: ela e um sujeito desempregado, que afirmava ter sido o impulsionador da nova lei com base na necessidade – Caros leitores, leiam o livro! Encomendem de Inglaterra, como eu fiz, se for necessário! Entretanto, a meio do discurso do desempregado reparei que eram horas e comecei a escrever uma mensagem: “Estou no café tal quê e tal” – pressing send, quando, pling: new message – como o meu telemóvel é awesome, apareceu o conteúdo da mensagem: “Estou no café tal e tal, no canto circular da divisão 2D. Factorial de 4875839729298!” – Ok. Não foi isto, felizmente. Mas basicamente, estava do lado de dentro do lugar. “OH SNAP. Deixei o senhor à espera. OH NÃO--”
.
“Maria chica, foge!” – interrompeu-me o subconsciente espanhol – qual é a coisa pelo espanhol, mesmo?
.
Assim, caminhei para a entrevista, com uma cara interior de quem acabou de trincar um grandessíssimo limão e um pseudo-sorriso de quem está prestes a virar costas e fugir – acho eu.
Falando em termos de Ultima Online, isto equiparava-se a quando, basicamente, um nOOb entra a correr para um portal que acabou de ser aberto por um PK l337, onde possivelmente iria perder a cabeça e ser humilhado para sempre e perdido algures na grande Realm... para sempre um fantasma a dizer OooooOoooOOOooOOoooooOOoo.
Felizmente não aconteceu tal (im)provável cenário. Uau! Não tinha 12 anos! Não fez o tal gesto estereotipado que as mulheres negras fazem enquanto estalam os dedos e fazem um ruído desaprovador com os lábios. Não disse “Lmao you can’t match MIT’s awesomeness you lamezord.”, nem “Lmao. Asians. We have too many.”, nem "YOU SUCK [/unreal tournment voice]", nem “Orly, k lol kthx bye 5 min GTG dewd.” and nem se transformou num bicho de 7 cabeças e me mordeu um joelho e também não se transformou numa chimera... Nem... ok já chega. Resumindo, era uma pessoa!
Ok, era agora que devia dar detalhes sobre a ENTREVISTA EM SI mas devido ao estado ultra, ultra, ultra nervosismo em que eu estava, não me lembro de quase nada.
.
1º minuto “Olá, tudo bem? Ah, és a Maria.”
2º minuto “Não vou avaliar o teu inglês mas a tua entrevista vai ser em inglês.” Pensem o que quiserem mas se eu estivesse no lugar do senhor acrescentaria um “lmao” mental à frase – eu bem sei que foi isso que aconteceu!
WHAT THE WHAT. WHAT. WHAT WHAT WHAT. Acho que a minha cara do limão ultra amargo revelou-se.
“Tell me a bit about yourself.” – I probably vomited everything I could think of, which was very little since I was: “zomg so scared”. I *think* I talked about my band, music, rockets.
“Rockets ay? Well tell me about that.” Ahhh so like. Ahhh Rockets are like. Ahhm. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhm. Ultra Aaaaaaaaahm.
.
I did went blank on some stuff and that was sad - Uber sad. Made me sound pretty lame. D: Anyway, my interviewer said something about "at MIT you have a huge variety of people and characteristic [body] odours!" so you can get a gist of it. Lmao. My interviewer was awesome, seriously! Somehow it reminded me of the judges on my Music Exam... Ok this has zero to do with the interview but last year on my final oral exam, 2 judges (out of 4 T^T) were really cool and made sort of jokes and stuff to make you confortable and less nervous. I think it helps. Dear MIT, keep recruiting cool people like this one! Well, like me*gets shot*"
Chegado ao local, deparei-me com meia dúzia de esplanadas vazias.
“Bolas, não sei como é o senhor.”
Basicamente, sempre que passava um senhor com cara de “XXXXXX-Isso-querias-tu!”, que, sendo um nome normal e português, encaixava em qualquer espécimen com pêlos faciais, melhor, do sexo masculino, o pensamento: “z0mg. Sera, sera?”, num sotaque espanhol, ressoava-me pela cabeça. Tanto quanto sabia, podia ter 12 anos e ser um enfant terrible – algo que achei bastante engraçado e assustador – como ter 65 anos – algo que também achei bastante assustador e engraçado.
.
Bom, eventualmente sentei-me numa esplanada a ler Atlas Shrugghed, à espera que o relógio mudasse para as 9.55 - 5 minutos antes da hora combinada - com o propósito de mandar uma mensagem a dizer o nome do café, para não parecer muito estranha por estar lá 30 minutos antes.
Verdade se diga, não sei se li muito. Entre parágrafos lá olhava para o telemóvel a ver as horas. Sei que a Dagny – protagonista do livro – se encontrava num comboio e que ia ter com o cientista que trabalhava com ela para descobrir o funcionamento daquele motor electroestático, e acabara de pedir jantar para dois: ela e um sujeito desempregado, que afirmava ter sido o impulsionador da nova lei com base na necessidade – Caros leitores, leiam o livro! Encomendem de Inglaterra, como eu fiz, se for necessário! Entretanto, a meio do discurso do desempregado reparei que eram horas e comecei a escrever uma mensagem: “Estou no café tal quê e tal” – pressing send, quando, pling: new message – como o meu telemóvel é awesome, apareceu o conteúdo da mensagem: “Estou no café tal e tal, no canto circular da divisão 2D. Factorial de 4875839729298!” – Ok. Não foi isto, felizmente. Mas basicamente, estava do lado de dentro do lugar. “OH SNAP. Deixei o senhor à espera. OH NÃO--”
.
“Maria chica, foge!” – interrompeu-me o subconsciente espanhol – qual é a coisa pelo espanhol, mesmo?
.
Assim, caminhei para a entrevista, com uma cara interior de quem acabou de trincar um grandessíssimo limão e um pseudo-sorriso de quem está prestes a virar costas e fugir – acho eu.
Falando em termos de Ultima Online, isto equiparava-se a quando, basicamente, um nOOb entra a correr para um portal que acabou de ser aberto por um PK l337, onde possivelmente iria perder a cabeça e ser humilhado para sempre e perdido algures na grande Realm... para sempre um fantasma a dizer OooooOoooOOOooOOoooooOOoo.
Felizmente não aconteceu tal (im)provável cenário. Uau! Não tinha 12 anos! Não fez o tal gesto estereotipado que as mulheres negras fazem enquanto estalam os dedos e fazem um ruído desaprovador com os lábios. Não disse “Lmao you can’t match MIT’s awesomeness you lamezord.”, nem “Lmao. Asians. We have too many.”, nem "YOU SUCK [/unreal tournment voice]", nem “Orly, k lol kthx bye 5 min GTG dewd.” and nem se transformou num bicho de 7 cabeças e me mordeu um joelho e também não se transformou numa chimera... Nem... ok já chega. Resumindo, era uma pessoa!
Ok, era agora que devia dar detalhes sobre a ENTREVISTA EM SI mas devido ao estado ultra, ultra, ultra nervosismo em que eu estava, não me lembro de quase nada.
.
1º minuto “Olá, tudo bem? Ah, és a Maria.”
2º minuto “Não vou avaliar o teu inglês mas a tua entrevista vai ser em inglês.” Pensem o que quiserem mas se eu estivesse no lugar do senhor acrescentaria um “lmao” mental à frase – eu bem sei que foi isso que aconteceu!
WHAT THE WHAT. WHAT. WHAT WHAT WHAT. Acho que a minha cara do limão ultra amargo revelou-se.
“Tell me a bit about yourself.” – I probably vomited everything I could think of, which was very little since I was: “zomg so scared”. I *think* I talked about my band, music, rockets.
“Rockets ay? Well tell me about that.” Ahhh so like. Ahhh Rockets are like. Ahhm. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhm. Ultra Aaaaaaaaahm.
.
I did went blank on some stuff and that was sad - Uber sad. Made me sound pretty lame. D: Anyway, my interviewer said something about "at MIT you have a huge variety of people and characteristic [body] odours!" so you can get a gist of it. Lmao. My interviewer was awesome, seriously! Somehow it reminded me of the judges on my Music Exam... Ok this has zero to do with the interview but last year on my final oral exam, 2 judges (out of 4 T^T) were really cool and made sort of jokes and stuff to make you confortable and less nervous. I think it helps. Dear MIT, keep recruiting cool people like this one! Well, like me*gets shot*"
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