I think all the ugly things

I kind of think all the ugly things.

I can be playful, whimsical, mannered, even speak charmingly about my close relationships with my family and friends, and laugh frequently and contagiously. I kind of seem like a fun person to hang out with at a College party or something. But what is there to be? What am I doing to be so distant from my friends. What have I done since high school that made them forget? Forget that the enthusiastic Amanda is never going to come back and find her crowd.

I also feel unimportant in a land of strangers. Which doesn't bother me. But naturally I expect people to embrace my steps. And also that's the reason why I left. I was done with society. Done with manners. ... not to myself, but everybody else. I think about calling friends. But I don't. Family...only. I like to be a stranger.

My name at my hometown is not my real name. They call me "filha do Edisinho" which means...Edisinho's daughter. I don't have a name basically, they know me because of my dad. And they think I'm just like him...but with no "third leg". And no facial hair. And some other things.

I've always wanted to be a rock star. Not anymore. Now I just want to play one.

Dreamy...is the particular word for me. I dream. I dream far. I dream about spending my life in a boat. Riding my bike through the city. Wake up and make love. About a career. About making people wear what I tell them to. About opening an art gallery. About living one year in France. About getting married even. But with no ceremony. Just me and whoever is there for me..and God. Maybe Phil. I love him so much. It's not just a relationship. It's love. It's so intense that I don't know if it was my choice or not. When you've got another language between a relation, it gives you strangely more freedom. I feel English is closer to emotions in a way than Portuguese. English approaches me more like a craft, like something you can actually touch and work on...with Portuguese I can talk for ages. It's nice.

I'm going home in October, and the feeling of not coming back scares me. I want to. I'm coming back no matter what. But I'm afraid. I'm not allowed to tell friends when I'm going home. When I knock their doors I'll see them...but before...my parents don't want me to. It's so strange how my society is different from Phil's. He can tell his friends if he's coming home. I can't? Well... . fortunately his friends seem to be more conscious about their own lives.

I was almost kidnapped once (it's actually kind of normal in Brazil..don't think I'm special). It's a long story but nobody really knows except my parents and maybe some other members of the family and my dad's closest friend, I don't even know...not a conversation I have had since then. It scared shit out of me. My parents didn't allow me to go out for weeks. And if I did only with a group or my brother...that was even more scared than me. And all because he's a politician. I kind of wanted him to be someone that could change the way things are. He could...but Politicians are sick...with a few exceptions, like dad. Or grandpa...or a few others I know that have no strength. The good has no power in this political world. I learned that, and lived it. Anyway, I hate talking about that. I hate talking about society and political issues. I hate the government and the system. I hate my town. Oh dear...I hate my town. How many times I was home and would go downstairs to the guest room and see my dad discussing people's problem. How many times he woke up in the middle of the night because of a phone call. How many #$%^&%$& times he didn't sleep because of so much stress. He never noticed me watching him cry. He's the most amazing human being I know (and mom)... Sometimes I think they should all leave that city. Forget it existed. Sometimes I miss it.
My friends probably think I'm having fun. That I'm living good life. Yes..on my way. A way with no money and who knows what else. I'm starting to make choices and it feels weird sometimes not having to worry about anybody else. But not the way they think of me. It depresses me to realize how much they don't know me. They just want the "filha do Edisinho". Amanda....is someone else. I can count in one hand how many people really knows me (three fingers maybe?). How many of my friends I had real conversations with. And my family filled this space. It was not always like that.

I could be living with my parents and having the comfort I need, food, love....all for free. Good deal. For a reason I think I don't want this choice any longer.

That's why I'm writing a book. Maybe someday...when I get old...they'll find out who this Filha do Edisinho is. Who is she? What does she like? What is her goal in life? Who are the people that enchanted her? Who is the love of her life? What's her favorite food? What is her favorite movie or song? WHAT'S HER FAVORITE SENTENCE?
It's going to be in Portuguese tough. This blog is my escape from them. Hope they can't translate.

Amanda's favorite sentence:

I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best. (frida kahlo)