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.

Café da manhã

Versão em ingles

Hoje o dia está frio. Foi uma dificuldade pra sair da cama, mas consegui. Agora estou sozinho na cozinha, aproveitando a solidão matinal. Acabo de passar um café fresquinho. Seu cheiro forte inunda a cozinha e me ajuda a acordar pra mais um dia. Sabe, é essa minha parte preferida do café: seu cheiro. É que, segurando a caneca de café preto e sentindo seu calor em minhas mãos, seu cheiro me inunda. Cheiro da cozinha lá de casa, no Brasil distante. Cheiro da pausa pro cafezinho do trabalho. Cheiro de “só mais 5 minutinhos, mãe, que eu já eu levanto pra ir pra escola”.

Antes do primeiro gole, olho dentro da caneca e me deparo com minha segunda parte preferida do café: sua cor. Correndo o risco de me tornar ridículo, vou compartilhar com vocês um segredo: o negro do café me fascina. Longe de ser o negro artificial de uma Coca-Cola, com suas bolhas agitadiças, o café não. O café fica quieto, deixando uma pequena névoa se desprender de sua superfície, me aguardando. Miro para o misterioso círculo negro dentro de minha caneca, mas ele não se intimida. Me olha de volta no fundo dos olhos, como que me desafiando: você vai encarar o desconhecido? Você vai enfrentar mais um dia, com todos seus desafios? Tento protestar, mar ele não fala mais nada. Apenas permanece me encarando. Como geralmente acontece nesses pequenos duelos de olhares, sempre ha um vencedor e um perdedor. E eu me dou por vencido, desviando meu olhar. Fecho os olhos pra aguçar meu olfato, mas então, ao invés de desaparecer, a negritude se agiganta, saindo dos limites da caneca e tornando-se a imensidão dos olhos fechados. Fora de mim já existe a manhã, mas o café me acorda pra lembrar que a noite voltará.

Enquanto estou de olhos fechados, o cheiro e a negritude brincam com meus sentidos, me levando pra visitar lugares inesperados. O cheiro me puxa pras lembranças diversas. Cores conhecidas, familiares e agradáveis. Mas a negritude me mostra cores nunca antes vistas. De um futuro desconhecido. De um futuro que me deixa maravilhado com sua dureza e beleza. Cores escondidas no desconhecido do negro. Uma jornada que dura apenas um instante, pois abro os olhos e estou de volta em minha cozinha, com sua janela cinza. Do lado de fora um corvo canta triste no céu de Berlim.

E o céu melancólico de Berlim me lembra da minha terceira parte preferida do meu café: seu gosto amargo. Deixei de tomar café adoçado faz um tempo já e confesso que não sinto falta mais. Coisa da idade. Com o tempo aprendi que o doce pode ser muito doce. Que não podemos ter céu azul todos os dias. Que não pode existir uma vida de alegrias apenas. Mas também aprendi que está tudo bem. Que o que percebemos como indesejável também traz sua beleza. Que o azedo e o amargo possuem um espaço muito importante em nossos dias. E que seria insuportável conhecer apenas o doce e salgado de tão óbvios que são.

E assim, tomo meu primeiro gole do dia, recebendo esse liquido negro e amargo, que vem carregado de memórias, medos e misteriosas possibilidade.

Bom dia.