I woke up with the speaker service of the market square, there the announcer golden Hair said in his eternal Pearl: This song has the right address and the emotion of the narrative had even… So I started my day with a saudosm so unusual my person, even because I think the moment is now, what went on was beautiful most stayed only in our melancholy memories… I think maturity makes us remember too much of human transitions… We are made of moments and they are eternally in our affective memories and they often bleed with the longing for a time that does not come back but that has an absurd importance in our trajectory… I am a resident of the entire life of Praça Roberto Cintra and every time I reach my doorstep and see the places so peculiar and now empty of the physical existence more ever of emotional and sentimental existence… On one side I see the houses of the neighbors dear closed, or with plates of rent, sale, or destroyed for the cold progress… And now with other residents and I smell the childhood with the fragrance of discommitment to everyday life, of innocent pranks and above all of the unforgettable residents… There’s a secular almond tree that closes my eyes and I see my generation disputing who else would drop almonds, just to hear the sound of the guard whistle kicking us out for such childish transgression. I am an eclectic blend of the traditional with the hopeful freshness of the new… The old has to be revered, wored and above all respected, we are made of the examples left by our ancestors of this never doubted and I will never doubt… But there are some who insist on not hearing, not seeing, not valuing… The story is made of great lessons, the human trajectory is made of terrible battles and of lovely Renuncias, because we do not own the reins of time, he commands that determines and that makes us reflect on our mistaken choices… The human is made of this material, this disastrous mixture of pride, illusion and superiority… But it is also made of the most consistent mixture that is humility, generosity and gratitude… Every morning I see a gentleman put in the trunks of the dead flamboyants food for some tamarins and it fills me with joy and hope, for I see that in the human essence there is still love for neighbour, nature, family values and above all the manhood of taking A little bit of their little and feed these defenseless animals loose, free in the purest translation of the word freedom… I’m going to stay here packed in my nostalgic and amorous memories… Lots of light all the time. by Alberto Pires
