David Arioch – Jornalismo Cultural

Com a proximidade do Natal, os açougues estão cheios, suas filas são quilométricas, mas muitos ainda não percebem que a desproporcionalidade entre vida e morte é gritante. Quem sorri do lado de cá, não pondera que sua satisfação custou o choro daquele do lado de lá.

Quando você reconhece que a vida é feita de muitos caminhos, não somente de um, você começa a entender o verdadeiro sentido de palavras como multiplicidade, respeito e transigência. Passa a entender também que verdades inquestionáveis também mantêm pessoas na zona de conforto. Afinal, gostamos de domesticá-las. Ter medo de conhecer outras verdades, não é ruim, mas se negar a refletir sobre isso, é sim.

Há pessoas que estranham quando alguém demonstra ser tão sensível quanto racional. Temos uma forte tendência à polarização. Tratando-se de personalidade, facilmente dividimos uns aos outros entre sensíveis e racionais. Ou seja, se é sensível, não é racional, e se é racional, não é sensível.

Demonstre tanta deferência pelo romantismo quanto pelo racionalismo e verás pessoas o julgando como volátil, confuso ou até mesmo tolo. Goethe escreveu “Os Sofrimentos do Jovem Werther”, um dos maiores símbolos do romantismo alemão, e mais tarde publicou “A Teoria das Cores”, em que fez oposição a Newton.

De fato, Goethe era romântico, mas outras de suas obras mostram que ele não pode simplesmente ser definido como tal. Ele era mais do que isso, assim como muitos seres humanos resumidos ao zeitgeist, ou seja, ao espírito de uma época, ou a uma linha de pensamento que diz apenas parcialmente quem realmente são ou eram.

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Dias atrás, comprando brinquedos em uma loja, vi algumas crianças mimadas submetendo os próprios pais aos seus caprichos. Bateu uma vontade de pedir autorização aos pais para levá-las para conhecer a realidade das crianças da Vila Alta.

Ontem, quando fiz papel de Papai Noel, alguns pequenos vieram descalços e sem camiseta, sorrindo em minha direção, para pegar um brinquedo. Quando perguntei o que eles queriam, um deles respondeu: “O que o Papai Noel quiser dar ou achar que mereço.”

Momento inesquecível da entrega de presentes para as crianças da Vila Alta (Foto: Douglas Alves)

Tem algumas pessoas fazendo comentários estranhos sobre a campanha de Natal que realizamos na Vila Alta, na periferia de Paranavaí. Bom, só para esclarecer, eu e meus amigos que decidimos fazer esse trabalho, não vamos à periferia somente no Natal.

Na realidade, tentamos ajudar de alguma foma o ano todo, e já tem anos. A diferença é que pela primeira vez decidimos fazer uma campanha de Natal, isto porque percebemos que mesmo com tantas campanhas realizadas nessa época do ano ainda existe carência em relação a isso.

I had the impression that the machine slowed and compressed me as the sound increased

I even forgot how big the machine could be (Photo: Steward Health)

After more than ten years, I went back for another MRI exam. Arriving at the clinic, I confirmed my data, signed a new guide, got a badge and sat in a comfortable armchair in the next room. Meanwhile, Oprah featured the story of an architect facing termite problems. Around me, nobody said anything. They were all silent, looking at the TV.

I tried to follow the outcome of that modern tragedy, but it was impossible. My eyes turned to the door, open or closed, where young women appeared calling the patients. In these circumstances, my anxiety overrides any other sensation. Despite the great movement, soon I heard my name, I straightened my beanie and went my way.

I walked into a locker room and the girl said she’d be back in ten minutes. As usual, I took off my clothes and sat in the armchair, where I noticed again how clinics look more glacial on rainy days. Even the most subtle of the breezes seem able to cross walls and puff the unsuspecting, remembering that nothing in life is unattainable and that the moment can be as hard as a cement piece.

Over my head, was a small safe for things like watches and cell phones. I looked at it closely until a phrase echoed through my mind: “Leave everything that contains metal because otherwise something bad can happen”, the MRI technician warned me earlier. To corroborate, I read a warning next to the door, stating that metals can damage the machine and cause serious injuries to patients.

It worried me so much that still naked, I kept sliding my hands over my body, trying to find some trace of metal. “Is there anything metal in my body? Am I right? Am I right?”, I questioned myself, so distressed that I did not rule out the possibility of finding lead needles, sticking out from my nails and aluminum wires from my ears.

I took off my cap and rubbed my hands on my hair to make sure there was no steel abrasives in my scalp. After wearing the trousers and the t-shirt that she gave me, I spent at least five minutes in unfathomable introspection. And in the meantime, I digressed so much that my body became numb, so lethargic that I was feeling like a seed. I tried to get up, but I could not move. My feet were trapped in a void immersed in a whole. “That’s weird! It looks like a sign!”, I inferred.

Suddenly, the technician knocked on the door and called me. Then, I followed her into a huge room. It had been so long since I had had a MRI exam that I even forgot how big the machine could be. As soon as I lay down and smiled briefly, the woman frowned and made a squeak of displeasure. “Gee, you wear braces! Can you remove it?” I said no. She watched me for a few seconds and accepted the fact.

“Look, it’s going to make a terrible, terrible noise, so I’m going to put those protectors in your ears. If you go wrong, just squeeze this little ball that I’ll take you inside, okay? “I nodded my head, I pretended I was calm, and waited for the start of the exam, already seeing that white tunnel like a crematorium in disguise.

I did not remember how small it looked from the inside. After two, three, and four minutes, my imagination had worked as never before. “It does not make much noise. It is a soft, slow sound. I’ll end up sleeping”, I thought after nearly five minutes. Believing that my exam was coming to an end, I heard a crash so loud that my sleep numbed eyes widened.

How foolish of me! The exam had not even begun. Along with the noise, I had the impression that the machine slowed and compressed me as the sound increased, out of cadence. And to further aggravate the situation, a bewildering noise sounded like an explosion. Along with the noise, I had the impression that the machine shrinked and compressed me as the sound increased, out of cadence. And to further aggravate the situation, a bewildering noise sounded like an explosion.

“Damn, did something happen? What if this machine becomes on fire with me right here?”, I fantasized, already noticing my warm back and thinking of changing positions. It was worse when I remembered the braces and could not find enough space to bring my hand to my mouth. I just felt my gums burning.

At that moment, a macabre and dystopian salad of movies ran through my mind. From David Lynch’s “Eraserhead,” to William Sachs’s “The Incredible Man Who Melted”, I watched hidden in the Mouth of Hell when I was a child. In short, I traveled through an untimely universe of tragedies.

I often pressed my tongue into my braces to make sure everything was still normal. And the noise intensified. My anxiety increased among the intervals because the silence flustered me. There was a satiric type of claustrophobia that made my mind a hostage. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and tried to restore my composure. It did not take long and I realized that there might be something else even in the crude dissonance of the noises.

So, the din turned to music when I linked what I heard to movies like “Run Lola Run” and “Trainspotting”, and bands like Ministry, Atari Teenage Riot, Nine Inch Nails and KMFDM. When the MRI exam was over, I had the most grateful sensation of anyone who sees a light at the end of the tunnel. I got up with a cherished heart, said goodbye to the technician, and walked to the dressing room. There, I saw a girl who did the same exam. Wearing braces, she was laughing in front of one of the doors. We did not even greet each other. We just laughed, recognizing in the creativity of fiction a joke in the form of redemption.

Sem dúvida, o Natal já valeu a pena

Hoje, distribuímos mais de 700 presentes para crianças e pré-adolescentes na casa do Tio Lu, na Vila Alta, na periferia de Paranavaí. Fiquei muito feliz em fazer parte disso. Foi uma iniciativa que contou com a ajuda de muitos doadores, muita gente boa. Eu seria até injusto de citar nomes de doadores porque não tenho dúvida alguma de que alguém acabaria por ficar de fora.

Mas preciso destacar que nada disso seria possível sem a parceria de grandes amigos como Luzimar Ciríaco Andrade e João Henrique de Andrade, além da minha mãe e do Tio Lu, pessoas que fizeram parte de todo o processo iniciado em novembro. Também agradeço meus irmãos Guimarães Jvnior e Douglas Alves que ajudaram muito, assim como minha cunhada Adri e sua mãe Lina.

I liked the suggestion, and encouraged myself with the possibility of being cured

After my confirmation, he straightened his lab coat and told me to lay my face down (Art: Copy)

I’ve had a herniated disc since I was 20 years old. Despite this, I live normally. I do many exercises that require a lot of my lumbar spine. But, like any other person who has an intense weight training routine, occasionally, I make a mistake and I feel the consequences the next day.

Once, in 2014, I spoke with a friend about my misfortune, explaining that in situations like this, I must take it easy until I recover completely. Supportive, he suggested that I look for a specialist known as Torino Masseur, an excellent professional who lived a few years in Nanjing, China, where he studied millennial techniques for the treatment of herniated discs, osteoarthritis and scoliosis, among other spinal problems.

I liked the suggestion, and encouraged myself with the possibility of being cured, without having to worry so much about the lumbar, in case of soft injuries during the exercises. I called the massage therapist on Wednesday morning, and scheduled a session for 4:00 pm on Friday. At 3:40 pm, I press the intercom of the clinic located in a residential neighborhood of Paranavaí.

I was greeted by a smiling young man, with a dubious expression, who gestured more than he spoke, reminding me of a mime. “Welcome, sir”, he said behind a counter, holding a self-help book. Inside, I saw two middle-aged men sitting in very comfortable single chairs. There was a third vacant armchair, so I settled in and I began to watch the environment since I was not yet attended to.

The place was extraordinarily clean and exuded a lenient perfume that I could not identify; a supposed and pleasant combination of herbs. The clear arabesque granite floor glistened, drawing my eyes and allowing me to see my own reflection on the floor. On a coffee table, also granite, there were many health magazines, especially about alternative therapies. The most surprising thing is that it was not old like most that we found in offices.

During my distraction, I heard some strange short sounds, albeit low and indistinguishable, coming from two different directions of the clinic. Someone seemed to be in a lot of pain. Maybe the treatment will be beyond my expectations, minimizing my vile condition.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps coming from the corridor on the right. A man of medium height, about 40 years old, walked with satisfaction, displaying short teeth in a wide mouth. He approached the reception on my left, and, before he said anything, the receptionist asked if he would want to come back on the same day and at the same time the following week. “You bet I do!”, he replied, keeping his voice relatively low and looking at me suspiciously.

As soon as the man left the clinic, a comrade I’ve known for more than ten years, with whom I have dined in his house with his wife and children, left a room in the hallway on the right. When he saw me, the serene expression and laconic smile was replaced by a serious physiognomy – I even noticed a startled look. I did not understand his reaction and I kept silent. To my surprise, he ignored me, opened the door, and left.

Waiting for his turn, a bearded man greeted me and asked if I had been there before. I said no, and he told me that he started attending the clinic two years ago. “Young man, this place has changed my life. Today, I am another man, much more accomplished in every way”, he said, adding that he had always had the support of his wife.

The man kept praising the clinic, when the receptionist picked up the phone and called me, without saying my name. “He will attend to you now, sir. Shall we?” I got up and followed the guy. As soon as he opened the door, he asked me to take off my clothes, just wearing my underwear, and I lay down on a massage table, so comfortable it looked like a highest quality bed.

As I undressed, I realized that there was great instrumentation in the place, even hanging on the clear walls with practically pictorial inscriptions, and I had no idea what it was for. It seemed unusual to me, but I concluded that perhaps it was tools brought from far-off places in Asia. Until that moment, I interpreted everything that I saw, that was different in the room, as a result of a unique service.

A minute later, I lay down, and then, the recommended Torino Masseur approached me, introduced himself and questioned whether the reason for that session was a herniated disc. After my confirmation, he straightened his lab coat and told me to lay my face down. Although the position was uncomfortable, I did not want to sound impolite or foolish, and I agreed.

Across the room, he turned on a small stereo that played a transfigured moody song, a curious kind of lethargic pop. Then, I noticed that the ambient fluorescence dropped considerably. There was also an exotic, fruity scent in the air. I do not know how, but the place was no longer so clear. “Close your eyes and feel the energy flowing. Let it all happen”, he said.

Silently, I felt a foreign body, something damp, warm and grooved, leaning against my right arm. When I opened my eyes, the masseur was wiggling, wearing black synthetic leather briefs with a zipper, where his own phallus stood out and rested on his hand. “You are crazy, man! What is this? What’s wrong with you?”, I asked. Surprised and equally embarrassed, the man argued that this was not a real clinic.

Without wanting any further explanation, I jumped off the table, wiped my arm with a paper towel, I dressed into my clothes in seconds, and walked down the hall. In the waiting room, the man I talked to earlier stated with an indecorous smile, followed by a wink: “Didn’t I say the service is premium?” I did not answer. I simply opened the door and went home, aware that herniated disc is also a code for something else. I never wanted to know exactly what it is.

Não somos naturalmente mono, somos pluralistas desde o primeiro respiro (Arte: Reprodução)

Enquanto eu aguardava atendimento, Alberto sentou ao meu lado em uma das poltronas da Caixa Econômica Federal. Me falou que estava se aposentando depois de 40 anos de trabalho dedicados a mesma empresa. Parecia satisfeito, mas não tão seguro sobre isso. “Terminei a faculdade e passei a vida inteira fazendo praticamente a mesma coisa”, contou. Perguntei se ele se sentia realizado. Respondeu que não, mas que se adaptou a viver dessa forma.

O questionei também sobre seus sonhos de infância e adolescência, se tinha lembranças de algum deles. “Já não me lembro quais eram. Faz muito tempo”, disse. Todos os dias, encontro Alberto na figura de outras pessoas. Eles estão por todos os lados e me fazem pensar que não nascemos para nos dedicar somente a uma atividade. Não somos naturalmente mono, somos pluralistas desde o primeiro respiro, mas a vida, o mundo e aquilo que nos cerca muitas vezes nos limita. O tempo sempre parece curto, sem margem para a diversidade.

E assim corremos o risco de perder nossa pluralidade na infância ou adolescência, quando nos dizem o que devemos ou não fazer, para o que nascemos ou não nascemos; quando as pessoas agem como se conhecessem melhor nossas aptidões do que nós mesmos. A criança nunca quer ser somente uma coisa. Ela quer ser várias. As horas e os dias mostram isso. A vida demanda liberdade, e a nossa diminui quando crescemos por fora, mas nos reduzimos por dentro.

As inseguranças são amplificadas quando você não se vê como parte de um caminho, e ao mesmo tempo alguém te oferece prazos para “tornar-se alguém”. E esse alguém não raramente é outra pessoa que não você. Os conflitos aumentam na fase adulta porque você é obrigado a abandonar a multiplicidade da sua existência para se resumir a não mais do que uma atividade – o trabalho.

Nomes tornam-se metonímias da profissão, a identidade humana é suprimida pela profissional, e o ser perde cada vez mais espaço para o ter. Acredito que muitos dos males psicológicos e emocionais da atualidade têm relação com essa supressão existencial. Somos mais e nos julgamos menos. Nos vemos como incapazes de fazer mais do que fazemos, ou o que realmente queremos – porque é o que o mundo nos diz.

E o tempo nos leva à passividade, a aceitação de uma perspectiva lancinante de pragmatismo. O conformismo nos sufoca com um tipo de sutileza travestida de aceitável incerteza. Quantas pessoas que você conhece são hoje o que realmente gostariam de ser? Sentem-se verdadeiramente recompensadas pelo que fazem? Vive-se pelo não viver quando a vida se torna um simulacro do que poderia ser.

Não somos seres mecânicos, somos complexos. Quando nossas potencialidades, mesmo que ainda desconhecidas, são ignoradas, morremos um pouquinho a cada dia, sufocados pela rotina, pelas pressões externas e por nossas próprias descrenças. Acredito que somos como árvores que cedem diante da tempestade quando amargam na própria raiz o dissabor da incredulidade.

Contribuição

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A friend called to tell me about her problems

A friend called to tell me about her problems. As a good listener, I was silent, assimilating her discontent. Suddenly, she asked for my opinion. “So, David, what do you think I should do?” When I started, “Well, I think …”, she interrupted me and complained:

“No, David! No! Look at that! Let me go on! “Then I shut up again and she continued:” But I don’t know either. It’s a difficult situation and I don’t think my mother will accept it. Do you agree? “When I tried to speak, she stopped me again. It’s all right! I preferred to abstain, aware that any answer could be misinterpreted.

“So! Are you going to say it or not? ” Getting ready for the worst, I did two exercises with my jaw. When I tried to open my mouth to make a suggestion, I could not. My mustache of long strands simply entwined with my beard. I struggled to open my mouth in vain.

As I struggled to resolve the situation, my friend shouted, “Wow, David! How insensitive you are! You’re very selfish, you know that? How can you be like this? I bet you did not hear what I said! People should know who you really are. Oh, you know what? Goodbye!”

At the end of the call, I went to the bathroom to persuade my mustache to leave my beard alone. To my surprise, I received a message from Whatsapp: “Do not forget to send me your opinion. I am waiting. Kisses!”