Weekend…

 

 

 

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One Month

So it’s been a month since I started writing this blog. Somehow it seems longer.

I’ve learned a lot since I started this and I met really interesting people. I love to meet people who are interested in the same things and people who teach me new things. I’m learning how to speak about stuff that I never thought I would speak.

I’m not sure what my goal to start a blog was. I actually thought that no one would be interested in reading this and that I would have no visitors whatsoever. I just wanted to write and to see what I was able to do.

It’s been great actually, so thank you all for your kindness. 😀

1month

Portuguese Sayings

The other day I was speaking with a Croatian friend of mine about strange things that the portuguese people say, that make no sense whatsoever when translated. She tried to find similar saying in Croatian but she didn’t remember any.

Here are some examples that I actually use almost daily:

  • a Person that is extremely sexy is “Good as Corn”.

corn

  • When someone is constantly repeating the same things over and over again, he actually “turns the record and plays the same song” – This one actually makes sense.
  • When we just do something to show off, we do it “for the English to see it”.
  • When someone is shameless, he has “a rotten face” or he “is full of cans”.
  • To say to the person who is asking us to do something, to not count on it, is to “Take the little horse from the rain”.

cavalinh

  • To tell someone to get out of here is to tell them to go “Comb monkeys

comb monkeys

  • A portuguese person does not die, he “goes off with the pigs
  • When we have a lot of experience doing something, we “have many years turning chickens

virar frangos

  • When we are upset we “are with the olive oil
  • When we are screwed we are “done like a beef”.
  • If we are suspicious we “have fleas behind our ears

pulga

  • When you are full of yourself you are “armed in a racing mackerel

mackerel

  • To relax yourself and have fun, you “release you chicken

These are some that I can remember. Do you have similar sayings in your languages?

barcelos

No creo en brujas, pero que las hay, las hay

In reply to Daily Post Wicked Witch

I think we are born with two little persons on our shoulders, an angel and a devil. Then we shape our personality and tend to listen to the advice of only one of them. Everyday I try to only listen to the good one. Sometimes I struggle…

“A Native American elder once described his own inner struggles in this manner: Inside of me there are two dogs. One of the dogs is mean and evil. The other dog is good. The mean dog fights the good dog all the time. When asked which dog wins, he reflected for a moment and replied, The one I feed the most.”

George Bernard Shaw

Fado and Saudade

In response to Daily Post’s Papa Loves Mambo
My parents used to hear to Fado. They would put Amália Rodrigues sounding on the stereo and I would try to cover my ears and concentrate on what I was doing.

For the ones who don’t know what kind of music is Fado:

“In popular belief, fado is a form of music characterized by mournful tunes and lyrics, often about the sea or the life of the poor, and infused with a sentiment of resignation, faithfulness and melancholia. This is loosely captured by the Portuguese word “saudade”, or “longing”, symbolizing a feeling of loss (a permanent, irreparable loss and its consequent lifelong damage)”

From https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fado

It’s not that I don’t like Fado. For lack of better wordings, I accept Fado as a Portuguese Tradition and there are some musics that I do enjoy. But it’s all so sad. It appears that we are always listening to mourning songs.

One of the Fado songs that I truly enjoy is “Foi Deus” (Translation: It was God):

“I know not, no one knows Why I sing the fado in this hurtful tone of pain and mourning And in this torment, all this suffering I feel my soul is consoled by the verses I sing.

It was God who gave voice to the wind, Light to the heavens and made the waves of the sea blue It was God who placed on my chest A feathered rosary that I unravel as I cry and sing.

He made a poet of the nightingale, he put rosemary in the fields He gave flowers to the spring Oh, he gave me this voice.

If I sing, I know not what I sing A mix of chance, longing, fondness and perhaps love However I know that when singing, I feel that When one has heartbreak and mourning on our face we are consoled.

It was God who gave light to the eyes, gave gold to the sun and silver to moonlight It was God who placed on my chest A feathered rosary which I unravel as I cry and sing.”

It did not influence my musical tastes. What it did was to create a strong resistance to loud music!

 

Snails & Home

One time I was eating snails with my grandma and she wouldn’t stop staring at me with a strange look on her face. I tried to ignore it and continued eating my snails. Then something slimy was moving on my hand and I jumped from my chair. My grandma started laughting so hard that I knew that she was the one who put a live snail on my plate. Whenever I eat snails, I still look carefully at my plate waiting to see something moving.

That’s what I remember. I don’t remember a house. I remember my grandma. I remember returning from school and having a snack with her in the kitchen. I remember staying home at days where I didn’t have school and have lunch with her in the living room while watching National Geographic.

That’s my home.

 

In reply to Daily Post Our House

Dark Dreams

Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall ( Daily Post)

Everything about my blog says that I am afraid to let people know who I am. I don’t provide my name or picture. Not many people know that I have a blog. The name of the blog is Dark Dreams and the picture that I have chosen for my header is dark faces. (In case you don’t recognize this picture, it is from the Jew Museum in Berlin. The floor has 10 million iron faces that we can walk on and make different sounds when we step them).

I’m basically hidden in plain sight, hoping to find people with whom I can share my thoughts.

hidden