thegoodfellas/blogset-br huggingface dataset:
au ( compreensivel ate... mas sao 2 auS por vez: au, au! )vovo e : bobo ( acompanhado com um sorriso safado, ou uma careta de esperto)vovo e : vo mesmo.mamae e: mae, mainha, mamanhaaa ( este ultimo , sempre que esta dengoso) assim como papaia ( para pedir socorro ao pai) e Gatinho ( na minha opiniao o melhor de todos ): niaua e ainda tem Banho que e : bua , vale lembrar que este significa chuva tambem...e so observar para onde ele aponta! rsrsrse outras coisitas mais....ate!ps. Bua ( Chuva, ou banho) e uma tentativa de reproduzir chua... porque sempre que eu dava banho nele, antes dele falar, eu cantava uma musica da Aline Barros, que diz: Chua, esta e a nossa onda, chua, chua....
estava fazendo uns testes com a minha maquina, e sai uns instantes para a cozinha. deixei a cam ligada...Ian viu, e olha so o resultado.... ele fez so, juro!Eu aguento? Filho, a sua festa foi um sucesso! para alegria e prazer de todos e felicidade total da mamae... embora no meio do caminho tenha havido algumas pedras: como os doces pagos e encomendados que nunca chegaram e que ainda os espero, o Pai doente com a cara inchada que nao quis sair em nenhuma foto... no final deu tudo certo ... Voce passou de braco em braco, e distribuiu muitos sorrisos e caretas,Brincou no pula-pula com Tia baby, tia Daninha e a prima Mel;Comeu brigadeiro com a tia Mayara;Comeu algodao doce e pipoca com o vovo;E quase comeu a cabeca do Tyrone tambem (rsrsrsr);Tirou muitas fotos, se divertiu com o Tio e a avo;Ganhou um montao de presentes e quase nao larga o carrao que ganhou do tio Alisson;E no fim do dia a casa estava uma bagunca, a mae morta de fome, e voce.... dormindo como um anjinho...Ps. Muito obrigada a Familia pelo apoio financeiro e psicologico, obrigada as tias posticas pela ajuda na arrumacao (a mesa do bolo ficou linda!). E obrigada a todos que compareceram a festa. Sem voces nao teria dado certo! Foi assim:Eu estava assistindo televisao e ele como de costume fazendo bagunca com os brinquedos... Eu olhei pra ele morrendo de Saudades (rsrsrs) e disse:vem filho, vem da um beijo na mamae! e ele: soltou a caixa de brinquedos onde estava apoiado e ainda de pe, meio torto, e cabaleando ele veio : ANDANDO!minha respiracao ficou suspensa por segundos que pareceram minutos...depois eu o agarrei e nos dois rodamos e sorrimos juntos...vibrando de alegria eu nao parava de gritar: VOCE ANDOU BEBE! VOCE ANDOU!de la pra ca estamos treinando muito e ele ainda tem medo, mas cada dia da um passo a mais... PS. o ensaio dos primeiros passos aconteceu dia 12 de outubro, e que em meio a correria nao tive tempo de postar... Domingo, almoco em familia.... ai chega meu pai com uns peixes pedindo pra minha mae cozinhar...Ian vai ate a cozinha e ve os peixes sob a pia; ele olha por alguns instantes, sai, e volta segundos depois; la esta ele, com duas ferramentas na mao , e erguendo-se com a ponta do pes tenta alcancar os peixes...eu e mainha ficamos curiosa e perguntamos, pra que isso Ian? o que voce quer?ele respondeu: essas ferramentas , e pra concertar o peixe. meu avo quer comer ele, mas peixe e pra nadar, nao e carne pra comer! ele achou mesmo que podia revive-lo! rsrsrsr "Ja tenho sido vitima destas criancas sem limites, sem cultura e sem educacao que me atropelam nos corredores dos shoppings e restaurantes, que gritam suas exigencias e fazem cenas publicas, sem que seus pais tomem qualquer atitude alem de prometer algo em troca de sua colaboracao..." "criancas e adolescentes que fazem sofrer tambem devem sofrer muito. Afinal, eles nao sao monstrinhos, como tendemos a pensar. Se fossem, seria mais
facil. Sao gente. E gente sofre. " (trechos retirados do texto Entre os muros da outra escola ELIAN E BRUM) Li o texto no blog: Pequeno guia pratico para maes sem pratica, que tambem foi linkado no blog da Dani , ele foi foi tirado do site da revista Epoca e entre tantas coisas importantes e verdadeiras ditas nesse texto, desejo aqui chamar atencao para um ponto: a necessidade de mudarmos essa realidade. Penso que, a primeira coisa a se fazer, e refletirmos sobre que criancas pretendemos formar? De que maneira estamos fazendo isso? pois, como foi dito no texto citado : essa violencia comeca nao fora, mas dentro de casa, tendo os pais como cumplices quando nao como exemplos. ja perceberam que o filho do vizinho e que e um pestinha? por exemplo: se o filho do vizinho bate no nosso filho: ele e mau educado, um pestinha! ; mas, se e o nosso que bate: ele esta so se defendendo! se o coleguinha da escola chama palavrao, ele tem a boca suja e a mae e desnaturada, se e o nosso: ele esta esperto e reproduz tudo o que ouve; se o filho do vizinho bate na cara da mae, desobedece a professora, xinga o avo ele e um pestinha e nao o queremos perto do nosso filho; mas, se e o nosso que faz isso: ele esta com problemas comportamentais..... Violencia comeca em casa, sei que nao poderemos responder nem escolher pelos os nossos filhos mas, poderemos orienta-los melhor. Sera que estamos fazendo o suficiente? sera que nao estamos esquecendo de olhar para os nossos filhos ? Desejo que Deus, ilumine nossos caminhos e retire de nos as vendas que nos impede de enxergar a violencia que muitas vezes se encontra debaixo do nosso nariz. e por eles, para que sofram menos que devemos ser pessoas melhores!
outro dia, estava no shopping com Ian, e na hora da saida ele me viu pagar o ticket de estacionamento, peguei o troco. e foi isso.... fomos pra casa.na mesma semana voltamos la, e ele viu uma daquelas maquinas de bolinhas pula-pula,ai comecou o drama, queria porque queria, uma moeda de 1 Real, pra colocar na maquina,eu disse que nao tinha, comprei um doce e achei que ele ia esquecer. ledo engano; ele foi ate o guiche do estacionamento, olhou para moca e disse:ei voce tem dinheiro?a moca achou ter entendido errado e perguntou: o que? e ele: dinheiro, eu preciso de moeda! quase morro de vergonha, peguei ele expliquei a situacaopra moca, e sai correndo de la .... so era o que faltava criarum filho pra pedir moedas no shopping! rsrsrsrsolha a danada da maquina ai.... " Eu voltei, voltei para ficar...por aqui, aqui e meu lugar! " tanta coisa aconteceu.... muitas mudancas na minha vida, e assim os dias se passaram depressa, e sem perceber blog, ficou de lado...mas voltei!tanta saudade em meu peito!Ian aprendeu um montao de coisas novas...dificil enumerar....aos poucos espero colocar tudo, ou quase tudo em dia! Antes de ser mae, sempre que via alguma crianca fazendo birra, eu dizia: se fosse meu filho ele nao faria isso, se fosse meu filho eu faria dessa maneira... Quanta de ingenuidade! A verdade e que resolver o problema do outro e sempre mais facil nao e? porem, descobrimos que a aventura da maternidade nem sempre e tao simples quanto parece ser. Por vezes para cessar aquele choro inteminavel cedemos: e ai damos aos pequenos tudo o que eles querem: os nossos celulares, o doce, o brinquedo... e fazemos isso conscientes que trara consequencias futuras porem o que queremos naquele momento e acabar com o choro. Essa semana, Ian descobriu o computador, e sempre que chega a casa da avo vai ate a escrivaninha, fica na ponta dos pes e mexe em tudo que pode... eu vou la, pego ele e com toda calma digo: Filho nao pode! porem, 1 minuto depois la esta ele novamente... ontem; depois de levantar e pegar ele umas 10 vezes eu perdi a paciencia e arrastei ele de la gritando IAN NAAAAAO PODE! resultado: depois de 30 minutos de choro sem parar, eu coloquei ele em uma cadeira e o deixei destruir o teclado da avo... e meu pai logico repreendeu: se ele faz em casa, fara na rua tambem! antes de ser mae e tratando-se do filho de alguem eu seguramente diria: eu deixaria ele chorar ate cansar! mas, quando chega a nossa vez, e bem diferente nao e? PS. vou ficar louca? sera que consigo ser uma boa mae? there is an angst in my heart. it is always there.even when im happy. even when it doesnt make sense.sometimes i miss little parts of me.little parts of what i cant remember.little parts of what i have burning in my brain.this angst has a name.but i dont know its name. all i know is everything else.and that i cant ask it to go
away.i am afraid ill miss it.i am afraid i wont recognize myself without it.p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; color: #454545}p.p2 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; color: #454545; min-height: 14.0px}i am afraid that, without it, there would be nothing left.
"Acabou porque, se nao acabasse, seria para sempre"E o que ha de errado com o pra sempre?Talvez a continuidade de uma dor aguda.Talvez a ausencia da calma.Talvez o simples fato de que tudo, eventualmente, estraga. she told me to go and create stories like i was stuck in time, even though she was the one stuck in a room. funny thing, though, she was also the one that knew how to share stories.she brought us up to date, since the last time i had seen her, at the other hospital. how she got released and went home on a uber, only to be left at the bottom of a gigantic stair without being able to walk. at that moment she climbed her ass off and cried like a child. months were bad. her muscles screamed in pain at such a level that they had to take her to the hospital again, this time another one, closer to her home and far from the careless doctors she had met.months were still bad. no one knows where anything comes from and her heart literally shatters. they give her morphine, they give her rivotril and at the end of the day she puts on a smile and explain different versions of the same story to anyone that wants to listen.i could feel her kind of quiet. like a scream that died at the throat, hoarse. i can feel the kind of calm that the medicines bring and the painful clarity she thinks she has, and all that lies underneath that... the despair, the fear, the anxiety... and the hint of thrill. now that is a much bigger problem she will probably never overcome, and that will probably take her down under... the love for the misery. the appreciation for the pain and the notion that is beautiful to be broken.i see all that and i can't really look away. and maybe i should... maybe i should tell her all about my new job, about the joy and sadness of failing at everything... but at some level i understand that she is right. i have to find my own story again. i have to remember who i am and be that... before all my loudness becomes the same desperate quiet i hear from her. she smiles. it's the best "hi" you are going to get. it isn't a bright smile, though. it is full of bitter, disbelief, and for some reason guilt. she is smiling like someone would say goodbye or i'm sorry.she is just standing there. of course she was waiting for you... she's got that big sister thing that makes the others spill their guts. they must have told her you were on your way.she doesn't move or gesture in anyway. you feel like you're staring into an animal eyes - they're careful, angry, hurt and so scared. so scary.you take a look around. the stone room has a yellow light coming from somewhere, but it doesn't make it any less dark.- i lit it. so you could see. but you won't find any
candles - her voice is surprisingly high-pitched, yet harsh and dragged. you know why. you know it's 'cause it's hard to talk, not to stutter, not to overflood the room with her insides, not to fear judgment.you nod. she is hugging a book in her arms, a little too tight. it's an old, leather covered, big book. the girl, on the other hand, is short. shorter than you'd think, knowing how much power she has coming out of her pores.her hair is very black, long and straight, with bangs that give her a younger look. her hair is messy, though, you'd bet she spent the night awake and didn't bother combing before leaving in the morning.her skin is the kind of white that makes you worried. and you can spot purple bruises on her wrists and collar bone... were they self inflicted?- i have a few questions - you say in a low voice. the situation is weird and intimidating... knowing yourself, after all, was no easy trick - they might bother you, but i'd like you to make an effort...- fine - she is rude. and you hold a little laughter. of course she is rude, you think, she wants to sound as wild as she feels.- well... have a sit - and at that moment a table and two chairs appear between you two. and immediately you regret it... you know that table, you both do. it's the one where all the others locked her in when she became too dangerous for herself.she backs away, the look in her face makes you wonder if she is about to attack you or run away. but she stands still, rubbing her wrists... the place where the cuffs digged into her skin.- i think i'd rather stand.- why don't we.. ? - you gesture to the other side of the room. you both sit across from each other, on the floor. - the first question i got for you is related to responsibility.she crosses her legs and lay the book there. the school uniform is dark blue and white, and you wonder if she's worried about getting it dirty.- why do you entitle yourself the big sister?she rolls her eyes. you raise an eyebrow. she is a real teen.- i don't entitle myself anything. they do. i just do what i have to do.- and what is that? what do you have to do?everything is silent for a sec. you almost think she won't asnwer. but then you see it... she's trying.- i have to make sure they are ok.- why? ok from what?- ... because that's the way i know how to keep who i care about close. and probably from myself... because i manage to ruin everything, anyway.- that does not make sense.- doesn't it? i am so messed up that anyone close to me just gets infected... and gets in danger. and hurt.- so why do you keep them around? if you care about them?she looks at you with such pain in her eyes that you regret saying it. you
regret every word. it starts hurting you too.- because i can't stand it alone - her voice cracks at the end. she really is trying.- why do you think you are so messed up?she took a second. you're sure she thought about this before, but for some reason explaining was... hard.- ... you have to ask?- yes i do. i really do.- why? 'cause you think you got to build yourself up again and there is some part of me that belongs to you? well guess what? i am nothing good or savable. so you can just leave me alone and be done with it.- ... louie, please.she closes her eyes for a second. and breathes. when she comes back, it's cold and focused, like she was finding strength from speaking without any attachment.- i am the one who can't live a normal life. i screamed my way through sleep my entire childhood. and then i grew up and it didn't got better... they say it's gonna get easier, that life changes and everything changes along. and you know what? the feeling is still the same... i am still that kid with ghosts in her room making her see things. and no one comes to send them away when i scream.- why don't you send them away yourself, louie?the question did two things: both pissed her off and made her wonder.- is that what you do nowdays? you send them away yourself? - it was an honest question.- the ones i don't want to talk to, yes. the ones i do, i listen to. i can teach you how.you can hear her heart from across her chest, clothes and the space that separated you two. but you knew what came next.- no. fear is all i have to keep going.you nod. you can't say you're not disappointed. neither that you are surprised.- one last question... why is it that you think you can't do it alone, in life? why do you need people to need you?she smiled again. that same sorrowful smile. but this time with a bit of fun.- i don't want my life to be just hate. and i hate myself.you look at her face and you are sure you're looking at a stranger's face. it's you, but missing parts.- it's gonna get better, louie.and you both laugh. what a crappy promise.
mim, que me segue o tempo inteiro.Ela tem o poder de ler a minha mente e se apoderar de todos os meus medos. Ela faz uma verdadeira colecao - com categorias, datas de adicao e intensidade de panico. E uma lista tremendamente organizada e indexada, que pode ser usada contra mim quando lhe for mais conveniente.Comeca com um sussurro - ele disse algo que eu nao sei explicar. Ela me aponta para a explicacao, que comeca e termina com minha culpa. Depois vem a caricia - ele se nega a explicar, e ela assopra minha nuca dizendo que e porque eu nao mereco.E entao o castigo - ele se cansa da minha suposta alma quebrada e me diz pra pensar sozinha. E ela me aprisiona numa jaula feita com seus ossos e escuridao, onde eu tenho a plena certeza de que eu causei toda a dor que eu vejo em volta de mim, que as coisas mais lindas vao ser intoxicadas pela minha presenca e que eu nunca vou conseguir ter em minhas maos nada que eu ame de verdade, nao por muito tempo...Porque se eu tiver, nem que por um segundo, eu levo tudo pra escuridao junto comigo.Por fim, ela me pergunta: e isso que voce quer fazer com as coisas que ama?
They teach us in therapy and psychiatry treatment that happiness is not the goal. What we should seek, they say, is the ability of looking outside and being stable.Today you did not cut yourself, you did not throw up, you did not self-sabotaged. Today is day one.And then there is day two. And day three. And 344566 days in a row. And you keep counting. You never really know whats the safe number, so you just keep on counting.Happiness is a lie we tell ourselves, I heard them say. It is not what keeps you from hurting yourself, it is not what keeps you sane. Happiness is what prevents you from objectively looking at yourself. If youre happy and sick, thats cause youre kinda blind.But it makes sense. It looks logical, cause every time you try to hold on to your happiness, you end up scattered all over the place, heart in hand and all.So you go for it. But you only need the light when it`s burning low. Only miss the sun when it starts to snow. Only know youve been high when you feeling low. Only hate the road when youre missing home. Only know you love her when you let her go. And you let her go.So you look at yourself - there, on the verge of things. Picking up pieces of your soul to remind yourself of who you are. Feeling like a failure cause all you do is let people down - your therapist, your doctor, your brother, your boss, your friends, yourself. Thinking that maybe... Maybe if they think theres something wrong with who you are, so maybe there is. Maybe it is not just depression, anxiety and bulimia. Maybe you're just no good.Self hate is staring at you. It is asking permission to return home. To crawl into your chest and sleep there, until you cant remember why the hell you got rid of it in the first place - after all it only tells the truth.But wait.Wait. Just... Wait. Please.There is this hope. Coming from someplace you cant put your finger on. You would guess it is your stubbornness.This thing he told you, the only one you trust. He said Let it go. Itll come back. When its time.You stand still in silence for seconds, minutes, hours, years...And you let her go. there is this girl tucked in the middle of book shelfs, at the great library. she gathered a pile of hardcovers in front of her, but she's only paying attention to one, in her lap, the others are a fort she built to keep herself safe from the world, a bigger fort than the shelves itself.two things you can't help but notice about her... the eyes, wide, big and glittery, like an overexcited child, and her hands, all marked in colors. the eyes didn't run in the family, neither did being a leftie, but those two things said so much about this girl that they might as well find in her life codification.the eyes were the open gate to her curiosity, one
of the forces that centered her whole being. but this curiosity of hers came from a funny place in her head, the part of herself that craved for an answer deeper than the boring, dull, sad life she saw around her. with those eyes she saw dreams, dragons, crossed lovers, unspoken magic and many impossible things being born and killed all around. with those eyes she imagined, she created, and above all, she colored everything.the hands were hands of an anxious girl. she couldn't work in the same speed as the time, so she made things happen in the spares. she would write stories, loose words, draw faces, eyes, creatures, people and lovely scary stuff... but she was, indeed, a leftie, and while she worked her hands would cover all the things she had already gone through, and all those experiences would leave her marked with colors. bright colors, dark colors, mixed colors, colors...you shouldn't try to sneak around, though, for she wouldn't know how to appreciate sudden company. she climbed to the moon and saw stars so up close that human kind just was not the same anymore. she too, was a bit less human. we all became scary, giant and threatening for someone who was only used to characters and fairy tales. but sometimes she looks away from that book. sometimes she winds around for a couple of eyes that might remind her of something she loves. in this moment she holds tight, like gravity was a string between them, and she hopes for her magic and impossible things. she hopes they all collide. so far they didn't and she wonders why. maybe it was the books. maybe the eyes, maybe the moon and maybe the lies... but she never stopped to wonder why she needed all that.
i think most of what worries me comes from silence. from delicate reactions to brutal things. from smiles that never reach the eyes.you can feel it right there, like a shadow or a cloud. like something you only pay attention to when you stand still for long. cause when you stop, then all the details matter. all the things that cant catch up to you when youre moving. life matters, death matters, love matters, sorrow matters, guilt matters... the silence matters.so much matters that i, for once, cant understand the delicate reactions to brutal things. but i hold the smile that dont meet the eyes and i offer a hand, that wont reach the heart... cause i can hear the loudness of your silence. and that i get. Achei que ja tivesse passado da fase diario. Aparentemente nao.Inseguranca e uma palavra que me quebra no meio. Eu sou o tipo insegura agressiva - quando voce e insegura e fofinha, todo mundo acha que e um tipo de "defeito bom". Um defeito que so prova que voce e toda perfeita e o caralho a quatro.Quando voce e como eu, sua inseguranca parece tudo, menos inseguranca. Parece odio, parece desdem, parece falta de paciencia, parece sarcasmo. Parece um montao de coisa que fazem de voce um monstrinho social.Eu sou um monstrinho social.Minha tristeza vira tapa na cara alheia e eu nao sei como dete-la. As vezes tudo o que eu preciso e meu melhor amigo e um copo de cerveja e, de alguma forma, acabo com uma briga nas maos e um monte de ofensa lancada sem pe nem cabeca.Eu sei dizer "preciso de voce". Mas eu deixo pra dizer quando ja estou gritando, arranhando, mordendo e rosnando. Deixo pra dizer quando a pessoa nao liga mais.Eu sou carente. Para um caralho. Sou carente pelas pessoas que eu amo, que sao pouquissimas, mas que dificilmente sabem que e isso que eu estou sentindo - e nao um surto idiota de ciumes ou posse.Eu tenho dias ruins. E meus dias ruins sao muitos. Porque eu sou o tipo de ser humano bosta que so faz merda e so pensa merda de si propria o tempo todo. E eu aguento de boas os dias ruins. Mas as vezes eu nao aguento. As vezes eu so quero companhia.Mas nao qualquer companhia. Aquela companhia que entende que eu sou um poco de estranheza e geralmente nao sei como lidar com as coisas que quero e preciso.Eu sinto tudo feito uma enxurrada e, talvez por isso, tenha tantos dias ruins.Eu exijo muito sem dar nada e, talvez por isso, tenha ninguem disposto a me dar companhia.Mas seria legal conseguir dizer, uma vezinha que seja, "nao vai, nao. fica aqui comigo porque eu preciso de voce". O pessoal da Buzzfeed fez o favor de inventar algo incrivelmente (foda) gostoso, correndo o risco de engodar uns 50 kg, provavelmente se tornando um dos meus pratos favoritos, eles inventaram algo completamente (gordurosamente) surreal.Conheca o Coxinhaburger (simmmmmm coxinhaaaa e hamburguer <3 p="">Imagem e receita Buzzfeed.Entao como funciona esta delicia? O pessoal de la