Affective Chernobyl
Thérèse and the Velvet Hands
If we were to ask her for the happiest moment of her life, in the 1980s, she would go back many years to just two moments. The first had taken place inside the ship that had taken her, herself, her parents and possessions for a radical change of life, which would not last long. Even the fish in the aquarium accompanied them. Although almost dead, for she was to remove them from their natural habitat to dry them on a terry towel and be rectified by her parents. The second moment was on top of a tree, in Aliados, on the 25th of April. Everyone shouted for freedom, as if they were trying a forbidden and delicious word. Life had never been very kind to her, she thought. Because of the comparison she used to make. She compared herself in terms of family structure with others and felt that she was losing. Because of this dysfunctional structure and the forwarding of her parents, she never really knew how to solve this "dysfunction" that resembled her daily life, her routines, food and everything else as if she were, as well as her father and mother, (distant brother was not contemplated, because they hated each other), and herself to a pack of wolves and each one, in particular, with its own unhealthy niche. She loved her father. That he was close to her and was affectionate. Her father painted, wrote in his leisure time and even linked himself to the cultural and intellectual gatherings of the city of Porto, exhibited his works and participated in parties regularly, and as he officially worked in a large artistic and literary foundation, he occupied in an itinerant way, the contact with people from other distant lands who loved to read. She accompanied him. The mother who had been brought up with noble breaths, never knowing how to give affection and always complaining about the rain, the wind, everything, in fact, did not mix with the people, that amorphous and smelly mass that lost their personal property, in the amalgam of public transport and in the squares where she passed, when she deigned to go to work, Because the most common thing was to resort to medical certificates, so as not to have to see the poor and miserable life of their human subordinates. She has always tried to decouple her personal image away from that of her mother. Looking like her mother was something she didn't want. It would be a kind of curse. Because she condemned her of all her private misfortunes and even within the pack of wolves. She had left home to live a romance away from her partner and her daughter, and only when an evil event happened to her daughter, she gave her five minutes of conscious despair and went to the pack to solve her daughter's problem. She read (and you never read too much) a lot, and the diagnosis of the myopia from which her own father already suffered was late.
When I met Teresinha, she was already wearing bottled glasses, on the sly, only at home. She was able to have surgery to stop the progression of said and started wearing contact lenses. By heart. Because she had always thought she was an ugly duckling. Unjustly. She was pretty, but she couldn't see it, largely due to the comparison she used to understand other people's dynamics and her own. She had strong, curly hair. Somewhere in his father's blood, Africa was very present, in his lips, in his nose, in his hair, in the color of his skin. Because of her hair, her brother called her Elvis, and she, in a gesture of courage, spat on him, managing to regain some respect from her half-brother towards her. She studied with me, she was amazed and glued to the lives of others. My house has always been the resting place of all the "friends". She had used and abused this condition. I never noticed at any time her envy or anger. It existed, judging by the harm it did to me later, but I visit those places in my memory and find no trace of it in the older past. There was an angel among us. The light of this angel overshadowed her selfishness. However, it was the angel herself, before leaving for another dimension, that made me aware of her true feelings. She rejected her mother for being her own trusted mirror.
We can consider brothers to be friends, and we can consider brothers to be friends. I did it and both of them failed. Because the only friend I have is myself. After the departure of the true brothers.
Thérèse could not have children. For physical reasons. But to me, we're ignorant, God isn't. And he knows what he's doing. I offered her eggs for the treatments, but she never took me seriously. I invited her to be my son's co-godmother. Which she accepted, with her husband being the legal godfather and the legal and practical role of godmother was assumed by the only friend I had and who left a few years ago. That she told me, in the form of a warning, the way she was treated when she visited her and the disputes she had, due to her illness with her. Today, I know that Claudia wanted to warn me about her intention and about the fact that she was someone who did not look at means to achieve ends. She stabbed me in the back. Coldly and consciously. She "legally" tried to steal my son from me, when he was still thirteen. Thérèse did not know what mothers felt, away from their children. Her own mother had used people as if they were chess pieces. She wouldn't know how to be any different. Today in my thoughts, I call her the mother's name, being clearly identified with her offspring. I have forgiven her. And I've even hugged the child she was and held her for the lack of affection she lived, in this toxic chernobyl where she put down roots.
Velvet Hands
Velvet Hands intercepts this story, also associated with the intrinsic evil that grew because it had space and time offered by me.
"Friends" invade spaces with our joy and consent. He was part of the house where we lived, by my brother's extension, and he also stayed for weekends and whole weeks, like Teresinha. I never went to the rooms of these "friends" of mine, I never stayed overnight and I never tried to do what they did in my house. I have always been sensitive to energies and had a perception of emotional and psychological damage with some dexterity. Between them, I functioned as a corkscrew, who, by trying to understand the family dynamics and the focus of their problems, tried to remedy the affective damage. I don't recognize myself from that corkscrew person anymore. I am no longer that cove of castaways, nor do I want to know what hurts them and whether it hurts them today more or less than yesterday. Velvet Hands is important, in that it "worked" for itself - regardless of whether it wasn't being faithful to friends - in that it was self-centered sanity.
He, being a friend of the house, appeared when he wanted and invaded the lives of others, glued himself to the lives of others, just like Therese, for similar reasons. From a family remedied by the children's salaries and the mother's sales in Ribeira. He was the middle child and had an older brother and a younger sister. There was a difference in the treatment of the mother and the eldest son. And it will stay in his glottis all his life. Velvet Hands had been the nickname given by Thérèse, who thought he liked to put in everything that moved. And Thérèse herself thought he was capable of selling his parents to get well in life. I never thought that, not even after she said it. And ironically and curiously, here was their similarity, between the two. They were capable of anything, not looking at means to ends. And so it was, he, together with Fraga da Sé, came together to destroy my relationship with the father of my child, and she, Teresinha, years later, to steal from me the son who was still a minor and who she thought she could buy, thanks to her enormous lack of ethics. Both suffered terribly from a lack of ethical values. And emotional values of loyalty and recognition. And to this, we give technical names of diagnosis, but it is all to explain the lack of human affections and their importance and health in human child development. She has a degree in journalism, but zero experience as mother. Thus, she allowed herself to be formed by her limitations. Velvet Hands always been an artist, but he's not a father, also. They didn't sympathize with each other. Maybe it's because they're so similar. Today, thanks to the common enmity, I, they are "friends". And God writes straight by crooked lines. Because there are beings who, if they were responsible for the education of minors, would lead the same pains and hurts, the lack of ethics, the same affective limits - the affective chernobyl - to corrupt and limit early childhood.
We are anchored by the first years of life in a bond of parents, relatives and network of friends and if we do not have the sensitivity to diagnose the pains of others, our own pains, we will hardly get to know the other. I would add that although I believe in the Law of Return, Karma, Cause and Effect, I believe in the perfection of the evolutionary structures of human thought and the purpose that we carry, one or several in the lives of others. And every improvement we make in us, it affects and improves overall well-being. Detox. And that, at the end of the day, whatever counts, what matters is to learn what life offers us and with the lessons, to become better, visualizing the gestalt of the collective and not the individual, who makes his choices, based on his environment. What matters most is the whole, and if that whole benefits from the pains of others, one of the purposes is fulfilled, individually, and will be part of the collective purpose. If humans were easy to understand, they would be more disposable, just like household appliances and artificial intelligence machines that come with instruction manuals. Our manual instruction for dealing with others is to listen to our heart, our intuition never fail!
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