O post Food as a motif #1 é um exercício de uma das disciplinas da minha pós, Creative Writing Nonfiction, um assunto muito em gosto por aqui pelos EUA.
Eu pensei muito antes de me inscrever nessa aula. Sempre achei meu inglês ótimo pra falar na rua e tal, mas terrível pra ler e escrever. Encorajada pelo professor, resolvi tentar. E estou me apaixonando. É claro que eu sou café com leite, tenho um inglês escrito ainda equivalente às minhas habilidades violinísticas, mas, ainda, é interessantíssimo usar elementos da literatura para montar reportagens, escrever memórias, discorrer em personal essays (nossa velha e boa crônica). Divertido, prazeroso e uma alternativa pro futuro? Em português, é claro.
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Colo aqui mais um exercício do curso, este parecido com prova de gincana: o desafio era comparar duas coisas, pessoas ou assuntos. Um familiar, outro completamente novo.
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Familiar and unfamiliar at the café
She is blond, has wavy long hair pulled in a bun. Her skin is very light, almost transparent. She has pendent green and her grey big bag is on the floor. She’s sitting here in the café for a long time now, with her white sweater and her miniskirt. Brown boots and socks that go high in her legs. A black coat hangs in the back of her chair. There’s very good music playing in the room, but she doesn’t move – maybe she’s not even listening to it. She’s writing in her computer and manages to keep a high level of concentration. She stares at her screen and writes fast. Sometimes, though, she reads the book that is sitting in her lap. There are some of them in the large four-seats table she is sitting at. There is also a gym water bottle, a cup of coffee and a half muffin. She bought it and ate the missing half here, but so discretely I didn’t notice. In the hours I’ve been in front of her, she didn’t talk to anyone nor got up from her chair. Oh, thank God, she moved! She looked at her cell phone. Oh! There’s more. Now she’s speaking. She smiles and I notice her nose points out in a curvy way. Still, it is a pretty smile. She stares at the table while she speaks and it seems she has more to talk than to listen. But then, she listens. She might be 27.
I am 32. I sit at the same café in a large four-seats table as well. There’s only three like these in the room. I am wearing my pleaded red and kaki shirt that looks like a man shirt, blue jeans, brown Oxfords on my feet, golden round earrings. My hair is short, Chanel length and it looks pretty bad today because it is raining and I can’t really take humidity well. My skin is light, very light for my standards, not that light for this country where light means something closer to transparent. I stared a lot at my computer without any movement, but now I am writing. However, it seems I can’t really concentrate well; I have so many windows and tabs open in my computer with different texts, news, social media and email – a huge mess. And the mess is all over, on the table too: copies of texts, my cell phone, a book, a notebook, a folder, a glass of water, a coffee cup, a used napkin and a Thanksgiving pies menu. My cargo military green parka is hanging in my chair and my bright pink backpack is in the other one by my side. I eventually move to the sound of music and pay attention to the other people in the room and passing by the windows. I can’t focus in one thing only, unfortunately. But I talked little today. I ordered the coffee and was for less than a minute on the phone. I am writing now.
She’s still talking, I am still writing. Now, I seem to be more focused than she is – even though she seems to concentrated in her conversation. Something like five years separates us in age and we never saw each other until today. Or at least I think she never saw me before and she is seeing me now. I can tell only the superficial things we have in common, but I can’t go much further. I never talked to her and probably never will.