The Storyteller

By Rebeca Sahagun

I remember our first conversation (I always do with special people). He asked – Hey! And you...where are you from?
– Mexico, I replied.
We were on the subway, line U6. This happened while waiting for the train. He told me he studied law, now he wanted to try something else. I think public policy was about trying something else, discovering new things.
He did discover that something else, but not at school. Usually important things are not learned in the classroom.
I saw the transformation from Plan B to action, from a blog to a novel, from a hobby to a lifestyle. He is not a lawyer, he is a storyteller. He could talk about academics, a party, a daily routine and make them sound interesting with a beginning, a middle and an end, as storytellers do. Storytellers make words convert into characters, landscapes, fragrances and so on. They have the power to transport you to other perspectives, other lives, other places and other times. It is about playing with the imagination, with the possibilities of other ways, of saying ‘no’ instead of ‘yes’ or vice versa, of having more than one life, more than one death.
As the storyteller is creating the story a process of revelation begins. It starts with wanting to tell your story, then the other version, followed by the third character witness and finally unraveling in a world of no limitations, where one can be a boy living in a farm in the 19th century, a housewife cheating on her husband in some suburb, a painter in the highest peak of his career.
From mouth, to paper, to me, the storyteller was inspiration. Thank you! 


PS: This text is a gift I got from my friend Rebeca Sahagun... It meant a lot to me to know she spent time generating, dreaming and writing those lines. Thank you, Rebeca!

About Guilt

“What do you claim in your defense?” a strange old man asked him.

Marcus Butner looked around and he couldn't believe it. He wasn’t at home anymore. This weird place didn’t look like anything familiar. It was so quiet and cold… And despite those two guards standing in front of him, he didn’t have any clue of what was going on... Had he heard it right? Was he being accused of something? No… That couldn’t be true… It was just a dream, he knew. Maybe one of the most vivid dreams he ever had. But still, only a dream...

Download the entire story here.

Illustrations by Rubén M .Y.

Excellency

Portuguese version

- Yes.
- Hello... Uh... Good morning...
- ...
- ...
- May I help you?!
- I am sorry, I would like to speak to His Excellency, Justice Brito Couto.
- This is him. What is this about?
- I apologize, Sir, I am from the Student's Union of the Law School... From the University of Brasilia... We are organizing a Conference about Constitutional Law and...
- Is this an invitation? Would you please tell me when is this event?
- Oh, sorry, we are still not sure, but it could be in March.
- How come you are not sure?
- It is just that, we are willing to adequate ourselves to fit our speakers' needs.
- I understand... And what is this Conference about?
- Fiscal Law at the Supreme Court. We... We'd like to discuss your legacy at the Jurisprudence of the Court...
- I see... My young man, I have a relationship of profound admiration towards the University of Brasilia. But I will have to take a look at this invitation with care. Please send me the program, would you? With all the dates, time, other guests... And I will give you an answer as soon as possible.
- This will be great, Your Excellency. What is your e-mail?
- No, I do not work with that. Please have it delivered here at my place.
- I'm sorry?
- Send it to my home. I am retired now, so I do not have an office anymore.
- What do you mean? By post?
- I don't care how! Look, you will make me a proper invitation on a nice sheet of paper. Then you will put it in a nice envelope and have it delivered here! At my house! I do not care if you use the post, an office boy or if you deliver it yourself...
- Yes. I am sorry.
- Young people these days... Frankly...
- I am sorry, Sir. Could you give me your address?
- Oh, yes... Only a minute, please. Martha! What is our address again?
- ...
- Just write it down... SQS 312... Martha! What is it? Could you tell me our address? Martha! Would you wait for just a second? My wife is not around... Martha! And the Court does not provide us with any staff... It is unbelievable! When you are working you are so important... So requested all the time! Martha! But then you retire and you become no one! The Court does not provide us any driver or secretary or even a car! Nothing! Martha! Wait for just a second, I will be right back.
- No worries. I wait here...
(...)
- Here it is: SQS 212! Please note that it wasn't 312, but 212... Building V, apartment 402. Maybe you need the Zip code also? Write it down 77049-003.
- ...003. Done, Your Excellency! Look, I am very grateful for your attention and patience. We will work on the best program and send you properly. Then we will wait anxiously for your answer.
- Alright, I thank you too.
- Thank you, Sir. Have a great day!
- You too, young man.

His Excellency hang up the phone and looked around. His home was back to its usual silence. He walked back to his living room and sat at the sofa. Turned on the TV and started watching a morning show about health style eating. He looked carefully around, just to make sure he was not being watched... "Martha..." Nothing. So he put his hand inside the inner pocket of his sweater and took one of the chocolates he had smuggled earlier, against the diet his Doctor had prescribed. And he ate it while watching a young lady teaching how to bake the best diet chocolate cake in the world.

Anesthesia

Versão em português

“Mr. Grey? You may come in and start getting ready for surgery. Just dress the gown and wait for the doctor. He will be here in five minutes to give you the anesthesia.”

“Thank you”.

She left Paul alone. He looked around. The room was white and cold. He took off his clothes and put the gown on. Then he sat down on the hospital bed and searched with his eyes for any object interesting enough to focus his mind on. But he did not succeed.

His mind flew back to Peter. He thought of him, the same way he has been doing in the past six months. Since they broke up, Paul can’t manage to get Peter off his head. Actually, Peter was more present to his everyday life now than when they were together. He was his company for breakfast and dinner. When Paul was showering, Peter watched him. When Paul walked the dog, Peter followed him. When Paul tried to work, Peter wanted to remind him of every aspect of their relationship that went wrong. And even when Paul slept, all he did was dream of Peter. Over and over again.

His friends told him that he needed more patience. That it was normal. And that it would soon be gone. But Paul knew that with him it was different. It was more than a regular heartbreak.       

Paul suspected that he was suffering of a physical condition, so he went to the hospital some weeks before. The doctor, after listening carefully to all he had to say, came up with a diagnosis. Paul had a brain tumor. More specifically, all the memories from Peter had become a tumor inside Paul’s brain. And the tumor was located in the region where he storaged his immediate memory.

“So this is why I can’t stop thinking about Peter, Doctor?”

“Well, don’t tell anyone that I told you this, but… Precisely! All we need to do is to extract this tumor from your brain and you will be back to your everyday life.”

“And then I will be able to think of normal things? Like, complain about the bad quality of Sunday TV? Or laugh of the stupid jokes my friends make in a bar table?” asked Paul, hopefully. 

“Indeed. I am sure that, once we get rid of this tumor, you will be back to your life. Peter-free.”

“So I need to do this surgery, Doctor,” concluded Paul, melancholically.

“I am happy you are so decided to be cured, young man. But don’t you want to know more about your condition and how are we going to help you?” asked the doctor.

“Oh, sure.”

“You see, when you and Peter broke up, you suffered intensely. Your body understood this as a trauma and tried to get rid of all the pain and suffering the fastest it could. So, as a defense mechanism, your brain gathered all the brain cells that contained your memories of Peter and kept it hidden in a specific region. You know, so it would be easier to handle them. It tried to isolate those memories.”

“Really?” asked Paul, “I’ve never heard of anything like this…”

“It is very rare,” explained the doctor, “but more common than you would imagine. There are several cases registered in the medical literature. I am sure even you already saw this happening. Let me give you an example… Have you ever met a couple that seemed perfectly in love, but after breaking up they just kept going on with their lives? As if they never loved each other?” Paul nodded, thinking about how Peter had asked someone else in marriage before meeting him, and that he was just fine when they met. “In those cases, their brain did the same procedure, but successfully. I mean, there was no tumor” clarified the doctor.

“Hmmm. And why do you think I have a tumor?”

“We can’t really tell, but… You seem to have a great amount of good memories… That is for sure. And everybody knows that those memories use more space than the bad ones. Another hypothesis would be that your brain understood that those were very relevant memories to you. They are what common people would call “a great love”. But what is specially interesting in your case is that your cells did not accept the isolation and started to reproduce uncontrollably. They left their area and multiplied incessantly. And they did it in the region where you keep your recent memories. And this is why Peter is present in every single thought you have.”

Paul stood there quiet. It was a lot to digest.

“Are you ok?” asked the doctor, a little worried.

“I am,” said Paul coldly, “So I believe surgery would be my best option, right?”

“Yes. But you must know that there are side effects, or better saying, consequences to this surgery. Do you remember that all your Peter memories are gathered in this tumor?”

“Yes…”

“This means that all the memories you have of him will be in the tumor.”

“I see… And?”

“The same tumor we will get rid of,” explained patiently the doctor.

“I don’t understand.”

“This means that, when we remove the tumor, you will lose all your memories related to Peter. The good and the bad ones. You will forget you ever met him.”

“I will not remember I met him? Like if you could literally erase him from my mind?”

“Exactly. We will remove him entirely from your life. But remember, all medical literature about this indicates that patients are ready to go back to their normal lives after the procedure.”

Paul became even more serious.

“I need to think, doctor. Can I call you back about this?”

“Take your time, son.”

Paul went home and tried to think about the decision. However, Peter was in all of his thoughts. Anything he tried to do came back to Peter. Every conversation with his friends came back to Peter. Every movie reminded him of Peter.

Since he could not think straight, he understood that the only viable option was to undertake the surgery. It was not his choice. But the necessary condition to go on with his life.

“May I come in?” asked the nurse from the other side of the door.

Paul stood still. Silently thinking of Peter.

She opened the door and asked, “Are you ready, Mr. Grey?”

“Yes.”

The doctor came in and started washing his hands. Paul laid down. As the nurse cleaned his arm with alcohol, Paul looked outside. The day was cloudy and the sky was white. Just like it was when he first met Peter three years ago. After the alcohol came the needle. It hurt a little.

“Please, Mr. Grey, count backwards from ten to one.”

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…”

And he finally rested.

Breakfast

Portuguese version 

It is a cold day. And as usually, it was hard for me to get up this morning. But now I am here, sitting alone in my kitchen. Enjoying the morning solitude. I have just prepared myself some fresh coffee and the smell fills the kitchen. It helps me to feel awake for one more day. You know, this is one of my favorite parts of coffee, the aroma. It is just that, as I hold my coffee mug with both my hands, and feel the heat, the smell fulfills me. It is the smell of the coffee break from my first job. The smell of my home kitchen, which is far away, in Brazil. Of "please mom, can't I sleep for just 5 more minutes?"
Before taking my first sip of coffee, I look inside the mug and there it is another of my favorite things of coffee: the color. I know I can almost sound ridiculous, but I will say it anyway. I'm fascinated by the blackness of coffee. It does not resemble at all the artificial color of a coca-cola, with its stressed bubles. No... With coffee it's different. He just lays there, quiet, releasing a discrete mist, like if he were just waiting for me. I stare at my cup of coffee, but he just stares back. He keeps looking back deeply into my eyes, challeging me. I can almost hear "are you gonna face another day?" I try to object, but he ignores me. He ignores and keeps staring at me. And like it usually happens in those imaginary eye battles, one part must lose. So I look away. I close my eyes pretending it will make me enjoy better the fragrance. But then, I realize that, instead of running away from the darkness, now I am inside it. It is not dark only inside my coffee mug, but everything around me becomes dark
I keep my eyes shut for a moment. The scent and the darkness play tricks with my mind. While the aroma takes me back to several familiar memories, with pleasant colors I already know, the darkness leads me to a world of colors I have never imagined before. Colors that are waiting for me in this unknown future. And then I catch myself feeling amazed by their beauty and hardness. They are the hidden colors inside my dark coffee. This journey lasts only for a moment, because I quickly open my eyes and find myself again alone in my kitchen. Outside my gray window a raven sings sadly in the Berliner sky.
And Berlin's melancholic sky reminds me of my third favorite part of coffee. I like how bitter it tastes. I have stopped adding suggar to my coffee for a while now. I must confess that I don't miss it anymore. Maybe I'm getting old, but with time I've learned that sweetness can make you sick. One cannot rely on a blue sky everyday. There isn't such a thing as a life of only happiness. And this is fine. What we understand as undesirable can also hold a hidden beauty. Bitter and sour also play an important part in life. And it would be unbearable to have an entire life where you only know the obvious tastes. 
Only then I take my first sip of coffee, receiving this black bitter liquid, that carries in it memories, fears and amazing possibilities.
Good morning.

Notre amour

– So… What is this all about? – asked the man with gray hair.

– Those are padlocks, my love... – answered her, while looking for the Notre-Dame.

– Well, that I can see! But why are there so many locks in this bridge?

– Oh, that! It is just a silly thing young couples do… It is supposed to make a couple locked to one another. You should write the names on the locker and put it here, in the bridge, lock it, and throw the key away on the river… That should keep the love safe and also make the couple stay together forever. It is like if you were tied to each other – taught her, without caring much, while looking at her map.

– I see… In that case, I will buy a locker for us – answered him, as if this was a new practical problem he had just recently realized.

In that moment she finally stopped doing her things and looked up. She turned to him and said:

– Oh, my love… Do you really think we need this? We are locked to each other for the past 40 years. Do we think it gets more tied than this?

He smiled at her and came a bit closer. With his hand around her waist, he pressed his body against hers. And then, they kissed.

Portuguese version

More than shorts, what spring really wants from us is courage...

I have been worried lately. Everything is different. The sun is rising earlier. Sunset comes later. The wind blows lightly on my skin. Now water comes to me as raindrops, not snow. I can feel things are changing. And I don't like it. I don't like changes. I don't like not knowing what to expect in my next day. Where is my certainty? How can one live like this?

Just breathe...

I wake up with the sunlight in my eyes. The clock tells me it is still 6:30 AM. Gosh, I really need some curtains! I go back to sleep and wake up late. This means quick shower, clothes and food. Now I am on the train.

I can't stop noticing that the girl sitting right in front of me is wearing boots, two coats and a scarf. And the guy next to her is wearing shorts and sunglasses. How dare him?! This kind of behavior is just outrageous! I get anxious just to look at those two... And I already start feeling my hearth beating faster.

Breathe... Just breathe.

The voice tells me the name of my station. It is time. I am now on the street. As I would have suspected, there is no sign of snow anywhere. It was gone. Five days already since the last time I saw it. And now I hear birds singing, for God's sake! Frankly, what is happenning to the world?! Tell me, can we relly on anything nowadays?

A mother walks by me. She is wearing a green dress, showing her legs. But her baby is wearing so many layers that I can barely see his face. It just doesn't make any sense to me! No sense at all!

Just breathe, Mark... Just breathe...

My mind is working fast now. Trying to assimilate all those news. The last time I had sun like this, it was for two days only. And then it got colder and colder. No, I will not fall for that again! The moment I start having hopes of a warmer future it will get worst!
Breathe, Mark.
I look at the small grassy sidewalk next to me. I stare at the yellow tulips. I am trying to get used to novelty. Trying to trust it won't go away. But it always go. Oh my... I feel so bad for those tulips. They don't have a clue that the snow will come back. The winter will be back in a feel days and they will all dye! 
As I looked my sad soon-to-be-dead tulips, a bike almost kills me! It passes only inches away from me! The guy from the bike shouts some bad words at me! He tells me to pay more attention! And I shout him back, saying that this is all I have been doing! I pay more attention than anyone! And this is why I know that I cannot trust anything!
The shock of almost dying so early in the morning, makes me even more anxious. I stop to breathe deeper. I feel so tired now... 
Just breathe, Mark, breathe...
I look for anything near where I can find rest for only a second. I lay my hand on the nearest wall. As I was busy breathing and calming down, I couldn't stop noticing there was someone watching me. I look up and I see an old man. He looks so old and tired and sad. But he looks deeply in my eyes. So I smile at him. He instantly smiles back at me...
And only after those seconds, I realize that I am looking at my own reflex in the window.
I am breathing and looking at myself.

Maybe tomorrow I will wear shorts.

Portuguese version

Plan B :)

 

Hello everyone!

I thought it would be nice to write some kind of presentation. So… Here it goes!

This blog is my “plan B”. Everybody should have a plan B, right? At least that is what they say… So mine “plan B” is to become a writer.

But usually the idea of having a “plan B” is that you first have a “plan A”. And your plan B works as your backup, the one that will save you when your plan A goes wrong. So… The (good) problem is that I am happy to see that my plan A is doing pretty fine. But then, would this mean that my plan B should be left behind? Hell no! So, I am starting my plan B now! Plans A and B are being held together! And I also have several other plans (C, D, the secret “E”, which I especially love…), and I hope I can tell you about them here, in my plan B!

The blog will put together my two passions: to write and to meet new people! So I will use everyday facts as an excuse to write.

So, now we make some introductions…

I am Gustavofsc, but you can call me Gu. I am Brazilian, from Brasília, and I am currently living in Berlin. That means this blog will be bilingual. I will try to always post things in English and in Portuguese. And I excuse myself beforehand for my mistakes in the English language. It is not my mother language and of course I will make several mistakes. But I hope I can pass you the message. And I hope you, guys, can help me improve my writing skills!

Basically, all you need to know about me are some important facts: I love the smell of wet grass, especially when it rains after a long dry period. I love new sheets in my bed. The first night after changing them is always the best one! Also, I love feeling the sunshine in my skin on cold mornings. What I don't like is to bite grape seeds. I also especially dislike the sound of my alarm clock, during those first seconds of my day. But one thing that can ruin my day is to know the end of a movie, just because someone told me.

I believe that art is an essential part of life and we can find it almost everywhere, if only we pay enough attention.

Welcome to my small Plan B. I hope you like it!

Love,

Portuguese version

Es ist nur wasser

Berlin,  March 25 2013

 

So... Basically, one of the problems of winter is going outside your home. Of course I don't actually stop doing stuff because of the cold weather. I go to classes, do grocery shopping and hang out with my friends... But there is one task that I have being postponing for the last two months at least: going to the gym. The thing is that when I arrive tired at home and I take of my gloves, my two layers of jackets and my boots... and then after I prepare my warm homemade meal, and I am there quietly eating and feeling cozy... I just can't leave my home again! And then the following happens: I make a deal with myself. I say "alright, Gustavo, today you will not go to the gym, but only if you wake up earlier tomorrow morning, so that you can work out before going to class, ok?" Then I accept my proposal and sleep feeling happy with myself. Of course that in the next day I do wake up earlier, but only to look outside and see the snow and convince myself that I will work out after school. And this goes on for the last two months... Who would have thought...

Well, the good news is that last week I did go to the gym! And it was so good to be there again! Working out, seeing people, sweating... I think now I am ready for two more months without gym.

Anyway, the really interesting thing happened after the gym, when I was taking the S-Bahn to go to college. I was sitting near the window and next to me there was an empty seat. So I put my bag with my gym clothes there and started watching life happening through my window. You know, now spring is knocking in our door. We have sun again. The city is beautiful... I was looking through the window, looking at the buildings, the monuments... My mind flew. I didn't even remember where I was anymore. I didn't realize there were people around me. I even forgot I was in Berlin.

That was when I started feeling a warm thing in my leg. But my mind didn't want to give attention to it. It would rather delight itself with the trees longing for spring, with the smiling people walking on the streets, with the sun... But finally I moved my bag to see what was going on. And that was when I realized it was dripping wet.

My mind fell off the sky directly to the cold real world. I opened my bag and confirmed that my water bottle was empty. And my clothes, towel and shoes were soaked. Not to mention that my seat and my pants were also wet.

And that was it. That was all that it took to make me feel angry and ashamed at the same time. I instantly forgot about the sun, the trees, the smiles... All I could think of was my wet jeans and people looking at me, pointing and laughing, trying to guess which liquid was that in my pants. I also couldn't stop thinking on how much cold I would feel. And of course, how the old lady sitting in front of me would be judging me because of the mess I had done. I looked up and tried to find understanding in her eyes. So I said:

- Entschuldigung (I am sorry)...
And that was the first time I actually looked at her. And I realized she wasn't even paying attention to me. Her mind was also far, far away from that train. She looked at me and said:
- Es ist nur wasser... (It's just water...). 

And she smiled. But it was a sad smile. As if she looked at the mess and wished her own problems were as simple as water. As if she wanted her problems to evaporate and go away.

Those few words told me so much...

"It's just water, so keep looking at trees... It's just water, people are still smiling around you. It's just water and the sun keeps shining. It is just water, but one day it will be more that that. So keep your anger, frustration and worrying for those says. But for now, sweetheart, it is only water. Enjoy the sun, the trees, the people. When it is more than water you will look back and miss these days. Again, go back enjoying your sun, your trees and your smiling people. Enjoy it for me. Because in my case, it is not just water..."

Portuguese version

La bamba

I woke up a little late today… And this means rushing through breakfast, quick shower and no time to think. Go, run, quickly! And finally I am there at the subway. Now all I have to do is to wait a few minutes and then I will be at school and my day will start being productive. The thing is: life does not play by the rules. And almost everyday, it keeps starting way before my personal script.

This morning I was quietly sitting and listening to my music. It was a Brazilian singer called Cassia Eller, telling me about “what it meant to be a little girl…”. My train stopped and its doors opened. Nobody got in or out. But in the last moment this guy rushes in, carrying a girl in one hand and a sound box in the other. They seem a little breathless, probably because of all the running to get to the train in time. I notice that there is an iPod connected to the sound box and he is carrying a trumpet. They look at each other and smile. He presses “play” and the show begins. “Para bailar la bamba!” And the trumpet “pananananana”, and again “Para bailar la bamba se necesita una poca de gracia...”. My Brazilian singer gets shy because of all the fuss they are making. I look up and the girl is dancing and playing a rattle. She smiles at me and I smile back. Actually not only me. Everybody gets excited by the small show. Some are clapping here… Others follow with their feet there… But nobody wants to stand and dance. Do you know why? In a few seconds they turn the sound box off and now it is time for tips. The girl goes to one side of the train and the guy to the other one. Unfortunately I will not contribute to them. If I do it, I will get bankrupt, since I have around three of those concerts everyday.

So… You might be thinking that this is a true chow, right? Wrong! The real spectacle comes now: the girl comes back from her round smiling and saying things in a language I don’t understand! She is happy and dancing more than ever! I notice that she has a green banknote in her hand. That is it, somebody gave her a 100 euros tip. And now she is hugging and cheering with her friend. The train stops and they leave, not before letting lots of happiness fall from their soul and invade our wagon. It was one of the most beautiful scenes I have seen in the train the last days. And it was a great way to start my week. Yes, it is good to know that life starts when it wishes to.

Baila la bamba... Baila la bamba...

Portuguese version