What follows now is a series of crazy dreams that I decided to write down just because they were too crazy too be lost in the past.
ELECTRONICS DEPARTMENT
I had this weird dream that had to do with my brother Joao Pedro, even though he was not in it.
The story starts when I have to buy a movie for him and go into this one electronics store. The place looked quite messy, and it was a mix of a store I visited in New Britain and Mesbla, a store in a shopping mall in Salvador. And I knew it was supposed to be a very dangerous place, but went in anyway. My thing is - I don’t think much when it comes to doing things for my little brother.
In the store, there was a huge TV set with scenes from a Schwarzenegger movie, maybe one of the Terminators. Someone tells me not to mess with that TV because it belongs to the owner of the place, a really strong guy and he kills people that touch his stuff.
Well… ok.
Heck, nobody was looking and I really had to find this video that my brother asked me, so I went on and touched the screen to make the images change. What was the big deal anyway?
But I am not sure if I knew what I was looking for. I kept on searching through the images when this 17-year-old kid comes behind me.
“What are you doing?”
(Gasp) “Nothing!”
“Did you touch that thing?”
“No.”
“Yes, you did!”
“No, I didn’t!”
“well, you better be tellin’ the truth. ‘Cause Mr.(who?) is coming.”
I look the way the kid pointed and there comes Mr. Muscles looking very upset, eyes fixed on me.
“S***.” (I say in a whisper)
I start running like there’s no tomorrow, find my way out the door, and cross the street. CPC, the church I go to, is right there, and several people I know from there are standing outside.
I ask for help, but nobody seems to understand. Then I keep on running. When I turn the corner I am in Itaigara, a fancy neighborhood in Salvador. My middle brother Leo is in the car with somebody else from our church. I hop in the car and they get me out of there.
…
Later on I am walking down that same street. I walk by the church, when Mr.Muscles appears right in front of me with a camcorder in his hands.
I freeze. For a second, my heart stopped beating. A little voice inside told me “run for your life!”, but my feet did not obey.
“You messed with my TV this morning.” I have know idea how to describe the tone in his voice. Maybe he was not totally mad, but the simple fact that he was twice my size in height and width was intimidating enough for me to try to decipher tones of voice.
“…Ah-ah-ah-ah-I….I…,” I felt my heart growing weaker, my body energy draining through my feet “sir… I was only…”
“Do you think you understand about electronics?” Again, no idea of what the tone in voice meant, but something urged me to answer the question, so I did it.
“uh… yes… sir.”
“Can you figure out how to fix this?” and then he hands me the camcorder.
“Sir?”
“I was going to kill you for touching my things. But if you can fix my camera I will let you go.”
Ok, he hands the camcorder to me. My hands are shaking more than a green bamboo. My mouth is dry and I feel that cold sweat on the back of my neck. Don’t ask me how, but I got the thing fixed.
“Here you go, sir.” The words came out with an extreme effort to utter any reasonable sound as I handed the camcorder back to him. I thought of telling him what was wrong with it and ask him to try it out now, but I guess my brain was too busy dealing with fear to send any unnecessary messages to the rest of my body.
The guy gets the camera and smiles.
“You’re good. What did you want in my store anyway?”
“…Aaaaaa… a… a movie… for my little brother.”
“Ok, come along, let’s check out your brother’s movie.”
And that is it. I wake up.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Wacky Dreams 2: Super Baby
Here goes two crazy dreams, both about my little brother JP. ONe of them features one of my friends here in the US, Jim.
SUPER BABY
Joao Pedro had just been born. 3 months old at the most. Mom put him in bed and asked me to watch him.
At a certain point, he lifted his head as to look at something.
“A brand new baby lifting his head????” I thought in awe.
“Mo-om!” I called out a little tiny bit scared, a great deal amazed.
Not happy yet with the lifting of the head, the kid lifts his whole little body, supporting it on his elbows, and finally sits down.
Amazed??? By this time, I was totally freaked out. Is this a freaking horror movie or the new version of “Looking who’s talking”?
“MOOOOOM! Joao Pedro is sitting up!!!!”
“What is wrong with it?” Mom’s voice comes from outside of the room.
Cut!
That was the introductory scene. You know that one that comes before the credits?
Next scene happens years later.
Joao Pedro (age 7), Mom, and I, at Campo Grande Square, in Salvador, walking back home towards Vitoria Blvd, by the Govmt. Palace. As we walk by it, J.P. walks into it and starts climbing the fancy stairs.
“Joao!!!!” I yell at him. “Come back here now!”
JP acts as if he was 3, and totally ignores my command. I am pretty mad. Not sure if I mad at mom for not backing me up when I am trying to make HER SON listen, or if I am mad at her son for not listening to me who always claimed mother’s rights to be obeyed.
“Joao!!! I am telling you! Get down from those stairs! RIGHT NOW!”
JP looks at me challengingly and goes on as he pleases.
I walk in furious, with the urge to twist his little neck, but trying to keep just authority in my voice.
“Joao Pedro! This is your sister talking – you come down here this instant, or you’ll get a sp…”
Nope, no need to complete sentence. Kid shouts from up there, “Coming down, Vika! Look how cool this is!” And jumps all the way down from the top of the stairs, onto the lobby floor, where I was.
What could I say at this horror scene? Terror filled my entire soul, I tried to scream, but no voice came out of my wide-open mouth, my heart came to a halt. The kid was certainly going to die.
But no. He had a perfect landing, looked at me with that wonderful smile that he only smiles when he is absolutely in love with me, expecting, of course, a word of approval.
But tears simply overwhelmed me, and all I could do was to grab him by one of his ears and run to mom, crying in anger and fear, barely getting the words out “MOTHER! YOUR SON… YOUR SON…OH MY GOD! YOUR SON JUMPED FROM THE TOP OF THE MUSEUM STAIRS! YOUR SON IS OUT OF CONTROL!”
Then I wake up.
SUPER BABY
Joao Pedro had just been born. 3 months old at the most. Mom put him in bed and asked me to watch him.
At a certain point, he lifted his head as to look at something.
“A brand new baby lifting his head????” I thought in awe.
“Mo-om!” I called out a little tiny bit scared, a great deal amazed.
Not happy yet with the lifting of the head, the kid lifts his whole little body, supporting it on his elbows, and finally sits down.
Amazed??? By this time, I was totally freaked out. Is this a freaking horror movie or the new version of “Looking who’s talking”?
“MOOOOOM! Joao Pedro is sitting up!!!!”
“What is wrong with it?” Mom’s voice comes from outside of the room.
Cut!
That was the introductory scene. You know that one that comes before the credits?
Next scene happens years later.
Joao Pedro (age 7), Mom, and I, at Campo Grande Square, in Salvador, walking back home towards Vitoria Blvd, by the Govmt. Palace. As we walk by it, J.P. walks into it and starts climbing the fancy stairs.
“Joao!!!!” I yell at him. “Come back here now!”
JP acts as if he was 3, and totally ignores my command. I am pretty mad. Not sure if I mad at mom for not backing me up when I am trying to make HER SON listen, or if I am mad at her son for not listening to me who always claimed mother’s rights to be obeyed.
“Joao!!! I am telling you! Get down from those stairs! RIGHT NOW!”
JP looks at me challengingly and goes on as he pleases.
I walk in furious, with the urge to twist his little neck, but trying to keep just authority in my voice.
“Joao Pedro! This is your sister talking – you come down here this instant, or you’ll get a sp…”
Nope, no need to complete sentence. Kid shouts from up there, “Coming down, Vika! Look how cool this is!” And jumps all the way down from the top of the stairs, onto the lobby floor, where I was.
What could I say at this horror scene? Terror filled my entire soul, I tried to scream, but no voice came out of my wide-open mouth, my heart came to a halt. The kid was certainly going to die.
But no. He had a perfect landing, looked at me with that wonderful smile that he only smiles when he is absolutely in love with me, expecting, of course, a word of approval.
But tears simply overwhelmed me, and all I could do was to grab him by one of his ears and run to mom, crying in anger and fear, barely getting the words out “MOTHER! YOUR SON… YOUR SON…OH MY GOD! YOUR SON JUMPED FROM THE TOP OF THE MUSEUM STAIRS! YOUR SON IS OUT OF CONTROL!”
Then I wake up.
Wacky Dreams 3: A Terrorist Friend?
This one is by far the craziest dream I've ever had. I particularly like this one. READ IT!
A TERRORIST FRIEND?
This is by far one of the craziest dreams I’ve had.
Here I am, back at home, in our condo on the 18th floor of Cyclame building on Florida St.
“I am going to the movies!” I announce. I announced it for whomever might be interested in hearing it (apparently nobody), and left without asking for permission.
The fact that I was home and that I was actually leaving home without any attention did not seem to strike me as odd.
Barra Shopping Mall is actually located way down the hill, from the corner of my street, closer to our church. But in this story, it is at the corner of our street, where the Yazigi Language School is in real life.
I walk into the mall. The entrance looks nothing like Barra, and a lot like Iguatemi’s 3rd floor entrance, with the large hallway, the glassy walls, the ice cream place, and the phone booths…, but without the shoes store.
In this crazy mix of malls, the multiplex was right after the ice cream place. This organization was recently re-engineered by my own dream engineers.
As I walk into the movie theater area, I meet this friend who looks a lot like a middle-easterner.
“Virginia!” He seems happy to see me.
“Hashid!” Oh! I seem happy to see him too! What do you know! “What’s up, man?”
“We are doing a terrorist attack.”
“Really?” I reply courteously, but not really interested. I wanted to get through with that small talk to go buy my ticket. “When is that?”
“Today!”
“Oh … ok.”
“You want to help?”
“Who? Me? No, thanks! I am not a terrorist.”
“Oh, but you can not tell the police.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. Good luck.” And start my way to the ticket booth.
“We are putting a bomb at the movie theater.”
“WHAT?!?!?!?!” Now he had really caught my attention.
“We are bombing the movie theater.” He repeats. Same candid smile.
“You, you, you, you can not bomb the movie theater today! I am coming to the movies today!!!!! You know how long it’s been since I have been to the movies?”
“well, are you ready to die?” He asks calmly in spite of all my anger.
“NO! I am not! I don’t wanna die!” I go on as mad as before.
“So stay away from the movie theater today.”
“Man!!!!” I reply upset. “What time is this gonna be?”
“In 30 minutes.”
“Man!!!! You just ruined my day! Well, good bye, then. It was nice meeting you.”
I leave him and his girlfriend and start my way home. But I decide to stop at the ice cream place first. I look at the watch, and order 2 large scoops of ice cream - plain chocolate, and chocolate chip chocolate.
I enjoy my ice cream, keeping in mind that that is the last time ever I will be having ice cream in that place. Look at the watch once more. 10 minutes left. “Shilt! I better pay for this and get the heck out of here.”
“Excuse me! I am done. Can I pay now?”
The clerk, in a very bad temper, says, “Just a second.”
Fine. A second is fine.
5 minutes pass by.
“Excuse me, Miss!!!! I need to pay, ‘cause I gotta get goin’!”
“I am a little busy now. I will be with you in a sec.”
“Well, that’s what you told me 5 minutes ago! I want to pay for my ice cream ‘cause I gotta go!”
She comes very unwillingly , I pay for the ice cream and start my way out of the mall in my usual hurry, just that this time, I am running for my life. And as I hurry out of the mall I think – “good thing I did not tell HER about the bomb. What kind of a person is that? How could someone hire her? Argh!”
In just 5 min. I manage to get out of the mall, and cross the street. I chose the longer way, cause the shorter way would make me walk right by the mall for at least 2 minutes. Since my street has a U-shape, I decided that I could go to the other corner and start my way down the street to my family’s condo, which is located at the bottom of the U.
For some unknown reason I walk into the big white marble building located in between the two corners. I don’t know why but I thought that would take me straight to my condo.
Well, it didn’t. I got lost in their garage, that up until this day in my life I have only seen through the gates. Maybe that is why I got lost, since I don’t really know what the inside of that building is like, my dream designed something senseless.
As I realized I was lost, I heard the explosion. Then I also realized it was stupid to have entered that building, and decided to get out of it. It was the most difficult thing ever, but I finally managed to do it.
Back on the street, for some reason I got back into the mall. I saw the whole ordeal of people trying to get out, all exits controlled by the police and paramedical crew…
“Man, I am in the wrong place,” I thought.
Back on the street once more, I run home again. And I finally get to the entrance of the condominium. But it’s impossible to go in.
“If you are not dead or wounded you can’t come in, this building has been closed as an emergency exit.”
“But I live here! I gotta get home!!!!”
Only then do I remember to call home and let everyone know I am alright. Great! Half an hour later! Oh, man! How insensitive of me! I mean, I had thought of that as I left the mall, but with all the hurry, I forgot all about it. My family was probably freaking worried!
I reached for my cell, but it was out of battery. Back to the police officer, “Sir, I need to go in! I live here, in this building, on the 18th floor! My family is in there, they have no idea I am alive. I need to get home!”
“Sorry, miss, no one is allowed in but dead or wounded.”
“Jerk,” I think, as I feel someone pulling my clothes. I turn around and – guess who! – Joao Pedro and Alyssa (Alyssa is the little girl under my charge in Middlefield, CT).
“What are you guys doing here????”
“We were looking for you!” JP answers smiling that smile, the one he has just for me.
“Joao…. Joao, haven’t I told you so many times not to leave the house by yourself! Look at this mess around here! This is no place for kids!”
“I wanted to be with you. You were taking too long.” (Goodness, shoot me, how can I get mad at him when all he wanted was to be with me!)
“Ok, fine. Both of you, hold my hands, and do not let go! For nothing in this world, ok!”
I hold both kids’ hands and try once more to walk in the building. Useless.
Then I have an idea! “Let’s go down the hill that leads to the Canela Valley, and enter through the first floor! (Our condominium has 2 entrances – the one we were at is on the 7th floor; the other one, on the back, is on the Canela Valley and it is on the 1st floor. But to get there, you have to go up the street, turn right, and go down this steep steep hill that I hate, because there’s a lot of poor people living there.
Well, that was our only chance to go in. I hold both kids hands and start my way down the hill. Darcilyn, Alyssa’s mother, drives by in her BWM. “Where are you guys going?”, she asks as if the world was at perfect peace!
“We’ll try to get into the building by the back entrance.”
“Good idea!” she says and drives away.
I am not sure if there was anything else to this dream. But I do not remember.
A TERRORIST FRIEND?
This is by far one of the craziest dreams I’ve had.
Here I am, back at home, in our condo on the 18th floor of Cyclame building on Florida St.
“I am going to the movies!” I announce. I announced it for whomever might be interested in hearing it (apparently nobody), and left without asking for permission.
The fact that I was home and that I was actually leaving home without any attention did not seem to strike me as odd.
Barra Shopping Mall is actually located way down the hill, from the corner of my street, closer to our church. But in this story, it is at the corner of our street, where the Yazigi Language School is in real life.
I walk into the mall. The entrance looks nothing like Barra, and a lot like Iguatemi’s 3rd floor entrance, with the large hallway, the glassy walls, the ice cream place, and the phone booths…, but without the shoes store.
In this crazy mix of malls, the multiplex was right after the ice cream place. This organization was recently re-engineered by my own dream engineers.
As I walk into the movie theater area, I meet this friend who looks a lot like a middle-easterner.
“Virginia!” He seems happy to see me.
“Hashid!” Oh! I seem happy to see him too! What do you know! “What’s up, man?”
“We are doing a terrorist attack.”
“Really?” I reply courteously, but not really interested. I wanted to get through with that small talk to go buy my ticket. “When is that?”
“Today!”
“Oh … ok.”
“You want to help?”
“Who? Me? No, thanks! I am not a terrorist.”
“Oh, but you can not tell the police.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. Good luck.” And start my way to the ticket booth.
“We are putting a bomb at the movie theater.”
“WHAT?!?!?!?!” Now he had really caught my attention.
“We are bombing the movie theater.” He repeats. Same candid smile.
“You, you, you, you can not bomb the movie theater today! I am coming to the movies today!!!!! You know how long it’s been since I have been to the movies?”
“well, are you ready to die?” He asks calmly in spite of all my anger.
“NO! I am not! I don’t wanna die!” I go on as mad as before.
“So stay away from the movie theater today.”
“Man!!!!” I reply upset. “What time is this gonna be?”
“In 30 minutes.”
“Man!!!! You just ruined my day! Well, good bye, then. It was nice meeting you.”
I leave him and his girlfriend and start my way home. But I decide to stop at the ice cream place first. I look at the watch, and order 2 large scoops of ice cream - plain chocolate, and chocolate chip chocolate.
I enjoy my ice cream, keeping in mind that that is the last time ever I will be having ice cream in that place. Look at the watch once more. 10 minutes left. “Shilt! I better pay for this and get the heck out of here.”
“Excuse me! I am done. Can I pay now?”
The clerk, in a very bad temper, says, “Just a second.”
Fine. A second is fine.
5 minutes pass by.
“Excuse me, Miss!!!! I need to pay, ‘cause I gotta get goin’!”
“I am a little busy now. I will be with you in a sec.”
“Well, that’s what you told me 5 minutes ago! I want to pay for my ice cream ‘cause I gotta go!”
She comes very unwillingly , I pay for the ice cream and start my way out of the mall in my usual hurry, just that this time, I am running for my life. And as I hurry out of the mall I think – “good thing I did not tell HER about the bomb. What kind of a person is that? How could someone hire her? Argh!”
In just 5 min. I manage to get out of the mall, and cross the street. I chose the longer way, cause the shorter way would make me walk right by the mall for at least 2 minutes. Since my street has a U-shape, I decided that I could go to the other corner and start my way down the street to my family’s condo, which is located at the bottom of the U.
For some unknown reason I walk into the big white marble building located in between the two corners. I don’t know why but I thought that would take me straight to my condo.
Well, it didn’t. I got lost in their garage, that up until this day in my life I have only seen through the gates. Maybe that is why I got lost, since I don’t really know what the inside of that building is like, my dream designed something senseless.
As I realized I was lost, I heard the explosion. Then I also realized it was stupid to have entered that building, and decided to get out of it. It was the most difficult thing ever, but I finally managed to do it.
Back on the street, for some reason I got back into the mall. I saw the whole ordeal of people trying to get out, all exits controlled by the police and paramedical crew…
“Man, I am in the wrong place,” I thought.
Back on the street once more, I run home again. And I finally get to the entrance of the condominium. But it’s impossible to go in.
“If you are not dead or wounded you can’t come in, this building has been closed as an emergency exit.”
“But I live here! I gotta get home!!!!”
Only then do I remember to call home and let everyone know I am alright. Great! Half an hour later! Oh, man! How insensitive of me! I mean, I had thought of that as I left the mall, but with all the hurry, I forgot all about it. My family was probably freaking worried!
I reached for my cell, but it was out of battery. Back to the police officer, “Sir, I need to go in! I live here, in this building, on the 18th floor! My family is in there, they have no idea I am alive. I need to get home!”
“Sorry, miss, no one is allowed in but dead or wounded.”
“Jerk,” I think, as I feel someone pulling my clothes. I turn around and – guess who! – Joao Pedro and Alyssa (Alyssa is the little girl under my charge in Middlefield, CT).
“What are you guys doing here????”
“We were looking for you!” JP answers smiling that smile, the one he has just for me.
“Joao…. Joao, haven’t I told you so many times not to leave the house by yourself! Look at this mess around here! This is no place for kids!”
“I wanted to be with you. You were taking too long.” (Goodness, shoot me, how can I get mad at him when all he wanted was to be with me!)
“Ok, fine. Both of you, hold my hands, and do not let go! For nothing in this world, ok!”
I hold both kids’ hands and try once more to walk in the building. Useless.
Then I have an idea! “Let’s go down the hill that leads to the Canela Valley, and enter through the first floor! (Our condominium has 2 entrances – the one we were at is on the 7th floor; the other one, on the back, is on the Canela Valley and it is on the 1st floor. But to get there, you have to go up the street, turn right, and go down this steep steep hill that I hate, because there’s a lot of poor people living there.
Well, that was our only chance to go in. I hold both kids hands and start my way down the hill. Darcilyn, Alyssa’s mother, drives by in her BWM. “Where are you guys going?”, she asks as if the world was at perfect peace!
“We’ll try to get into the building by the back entrance.”
“Good idea!” she says and drives away.
I am not sure if there was anything else to this dream. But I do not remember.
Wacky Dreams 4: The Forgotten + Broken Nose
These two ones were pretty stressful.
THE FORGOTTEN
This one was somewhat despairing. I got the title from the movie, but it is a little different. Now just recently I watched a movie that might relate a little to this dream. It’s called … not sure what it is called, something about the spotless sunshine of the brightless mind, I am not sure if this is the order of the words.
In my dream, there was a doctor that had invented some kind of machine that could make people young again, so that you could make people go back in their lives and therefore, erase hurtful memories.
For some reason my family thought that would be a great idea for JP. Make him not having to go through his mom and dad’s issues.
So, they made JP be 15 months old again.
I played a lot with him. It was so special, having that little tiny joyful baby again, throwing him up and down just to watch him laugh…
But then I asked a nurse, “what about all the good times we had together?”
I was thinking about the funny things he said, the time I taught him to ride his bike without training wheels, the day I went to visit him in his new home in the South and he was waiting for me at the airport.
“It’s all gone. He never lived any of those moments.”
…
I sat back and cried. “That is not fair. That is not natural. You can’t make those memories go away from me. You can’t take them from him. They were special. We’ll never be able to reproduce them.”
“That is implied in your choice. That is the way it is.”
I thought about my life today, so far away from him, and how he would go through his early childhood and never know who I was. And how all those memories that I had from us would be as if they had never existed. It wasn’t fun.
BROKEN NOSE
I was with C.J., this guy from my church in New Haven, at a stationery store. Jim, my other friend from church, was the clerk. My red BMW was parked outside. I was really happy for having just successfully parallel parked.
All of a sudden CJ’s nose is broken, I mean, cut. Jim keeps asking me if I am buying the funny looking pen that I had just taken to the counter. Meanwhile CJ’s nose is bleeding like crazy.
“Are you buying this pen, miss?”
Hello-o! The question might seem very proper since I had brought the pen to the counter of a stationary store, but… C.J.’s nose was bleeding! A pen? Was I buying a pen? I was planning to, till the guy I was with had a huge cut on his nose that I could not figure out how or why. Was he fighting outside?
“I don’t know. I can’t find my pennies.” I reply to Jim
I did not understand my answer either. Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight. I could not get my eyes off of CJ’s bleeding nose. For some reason I pictured him trying to protect me from a gang of mean looking guys with pocket knives. Back to Jim, “Would you just tell me if there is a hospital around here?”
I don’t remember his answer. Next thing I know CJ and I are in the car. I hate the fact that he’s bleeding in my car. I make it to a hospital, a public hospital that reminds me of the place where I took my brother Leo when we were 12 and 11 years old and he cut his knee at the shopping mall when we were skipping class.
They take C.J. in.
Later on the nurse comes to ask me what kind of a health plan he had, because they could only transfer him to the private section to get proper treatment if he had a health plan.
“I don’t know. Just treat his nose. What’s the big deal?”
“We really can’t do that. We need to know what kind of coverage he has.”
I guess at this point I woke up. I am glad I did. That was one stressful dream.
THE FORGOTTEN
This one was somewhat despairing. I got the title from the movie, but it is a little different. Now just recently I watched a movie that might relate a little to this dream. It’s called … not sure what it is called, something about the spotless sunshine of the brightless mind, I am not sure if this is the order of the words.
In my dream, there was a doctor that had invented some kind of machine that could make people young again, so that you could make people go back in their lives and therefore, erase hurtful memories.
For some reason my family thought that would be a great idea for JP. Make him not having to go through his mom and dad’s issues.
So, they made JP be 15 months old again.
I played a lot with him. It was so special, having that little tiny joyful baby again, throwing him up and down just to watch him laugh…
But then I asked a nurse, “what about all the good times we had together?”
I was thinking about the funny things he said, the time I taught him to ride his bike without training wheels, the day I went to visit him in his new home in the South and he was waiting for me at the airport.
“It’s all gone. He never lived any of those moments.”
…
I sat back and cried. “That is not fair. That is not natural. You can’t make those memories go away from me. You can’t take them from him. They were special. We’ll never be able to reproduce them.”
“That is implied in your choice. That is the way it is.”
I thought about my life today, so far away from him, and how he would go through his early childhood and never know who I was. And how all those memories that I had from us would be as if they had never existed. It wasn’t fun.
BROKEN NOSE
I was with C.J., this guy from my church in New Haven, at a stationery store. Jim, my other friend from church, was the clerk. My red BMW was parked outside. I was really happy for having just successfully parallel parked.
All of a sudden CJ’s nose is broken, I mean, cut. Jim keeps asking me if I am buying the funny looking pen that I had just taken to the counter. Meanwhile CJ’s nose is bleeding like crazy.
“Are you buying this pen, miss?”
Hello-o! The question might seem very proper since I had brought the pen to the counter of a stationary store, but… C.J.’s nose was bleeding! A pen? Was I buying a pen? I was planning to, till the guy I was with had a huge cut on his nose that I could not figure out how or why. Was he fighting outside?
“I don’t know. I can’t find my pennies.” I reply to Jim
I did not understand my answer either. Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight. I could not get my eyes off of CJ’s bleeding nose. For some reason I pictured him trying to protect me from a gang of mean looking guys with pocket knives. Back to Jim, “Would you just tell me if there is a hospital around here?”
I don’t remember his answer. Next thing I know CJ and I are in the car. I hate the fact that he’s bleeding in my car. I make it to a hospital, a public hospital that reminds me of the place where I took my brother Leo when we were 12 and 11 years old and he cut his knee at the shopping mall when we were skipping class.
They take C.J. in.
Later on the nurse comes to ask me what kind of a health plan he had, because they could only transfer him to the private section to get proper treatment if he had a health plan.
“I don’t know. Just treat his nose. What’s the big deal?”
“We really can’t do that. We need to know what kind of coverage he has.”
I guess at this point I woke up. I am glad I did. That was one stressful dream.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
death in England
Who heard about the guy shot to death in London last Friday? Did any of those who might have heard of it know he was a Brazilian, a 27-year-old legal resident, going to work as any honest human being?
I would just like to know what those British jerks were thinking to shoot 8 TIMES an INNOCENT BRAZILIAN who was on his way TO WoRK !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I would like to know just who they think they are to go around shooting people!
I would also like to know why didn't the media pay more attention to such an awful, shameful episode.
Why isn't anybody talking about it? Why didn't it make headlines? Why did n't this story cause international commotion and protesting? Where is the respect for the human rights? Regardless of the fact that they are British subjects or Brazilians, or Chinese or whatever they want to be!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I also would like to see how the Brazilian government will deal with this issue. And I just hope that they do not let England get away with a lame apology! Because if they do, I won't be just angry at England (poor England, everybody now can only think of how they were the victims), I will be very angry at my wonderful chicken-s*** government! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Of course I am mad! The kid that died was from my country and just a few years older than me.
I would just like to know what those British jerks were thinking to shoot 8 TIMES an INNOCENT BRAZILIAN who was on his way TO WoRK !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I would like to know just who they think they are to go around shooting people!
I would also like to know why didn't the media pay more attention to such an awful, shameful episode.
Why isn't anybody talking about it? Why didn't it make headlines? Why did n't this story cause international commotion and protesting? Where is the respect for the human rights? Regardless of the fact that they are British subjects or Brazilians, or Chinese or whatever they want to be!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I also would like to see how the Brazilian government will deal with this issue. And I just hope that they do not let England get away with a lame apology! Because if they do, I won't be just angry at England (poor England, everybody now can only think of how they were the victims), I will be very angry at my wonderful chicken-s*** government! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Of course I am mad! The kid that died was from my country and just a few years older than me.
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