I also carry a warrior. An open-mind and discerning eyes. A realist (sometimes a pessimist). I carry Athena holding hands with Aphrodite. There are weapons in my hands, these weapons are my words. They kill, they hurt, they cure. They tend to cure, I promise.
There are friends crawling on my back for me to take them. I carry the best of friends. Every once in a while, I get one advice from my pocket, I’m full of them. (I told you my words were used to cure). I carry a white box with old pictures, birthday letters from my dearest friends, an image of my grandparents’ marriage and a plan for my own.
I carry mistakes, failures and their deepest bitterness in order to constantly refer to them as a reminder of never wanting to have this taste again. I have the habit of also conquering all my fears and having all my tears inked into paper, which I carry as a souvenir and mirror to my confidence.
I carry the thrill of endlessly falling in love several and several and several – I mean several -- times, packaged inside a bag of happiness to new beginnings. I carry the capacity of recycling my own self and I admire my I’s capability of being me in so much different ways. Without being deceitful, I carry shamelessness.
Music is what feelings sound like. I carry tones, notes, harmony, chords and voices to wherever I go. If once I am left with absolutely nothing, If I am stripped from a guitar or a violin, I will always carry a beat. A pounding heart serves as drums while a pair of lungs together with vocal chords designs a lullaby, a pop song or a Broadway tune that manages to translate and universalizes the rush and confusion that eyes cannot capture. I carry my ipod.
Some folks carry with them clocks, others drag worries, several are inseparable from their mobile phones and a few still carry with them their conscious. As of me, I carry words, and the absence of them. I carry the alphabet and the combinations of those symbols that make life worth living.
I carry the things they carry, the things society shaped us to carry, things that actually aren't needed. What makes me what I am are abstract things that I carry. I carry the death of my uncle, which makes me realize that life is finite and that we need to enjoy it until its lastest second. I carry my father as a symbol and goal of success and of improvement. I carry my grandmothers since they inspire me to be brave, strong and as a result a warrior.
I carry the fire of determination and intelligence, but I also carry the waters of passivity and indifference. Sometimes I believe that if that same fire was to become as powerful as a supernova and the waters to evaporate ever so quickly due to the heat, I would be able to accomplish so much more with much higher quality right now.
I carry objects, dreams, and an incomprehensible line of thought. I carry my biggest dreams; I carry my wish to become a better person. Most important of all, I carry a little box within my head with all of my cherished memories and experiences that will be retold and remembered for a long time.
Amazing! A farmer who can use a computer. Now seriously, since you left Dayson got his own room...we (Oscar, Thales, Nilo ,and me) made several jokes about it.
As I walk through the falling fall leaves of a city across the ocean away, I carry cherished memories of drinking coconuts on my way to school; Friday night soccer under the lights and bats; sunsets underneath the shadow of the Salvador Cristo, Renato and Ian laughing at a gringo who couldn't surf; Sr. Argentino who never knew my proper educational credentials (Dr. Lang?); MUN excursions around Brasil and to the U.S.; a bunch of Canadians who wanted to be Americans (except of course for Alexa); abracaos and beijos from some of the friendliest and most social people I have ever met; the smell of aracaje; and the tastes of moquecas --lots and lots of moquecas com camarao, com peixe, and then again com camarao e peixe and even com lula.
Oh and I forgot, I carry memories of a really great friend who teaches English (I call her "literature incarnate") --the same teacher who asked me to post with a group of students who have made it very hard to for an Idaho Potato Farmer, a wannabe soteropolitano-baiano to forget them (And a group of students who have one of the coolest logos I have ever seen for an upcoming conference - nice job Ana!)
I think what they say in short best there . . . is that I carry a lot of saudades.
What a pleasant surprise to read your post in our forum!! I am sure that saudades is a feeling carried by everyone in the Class of 2013!! =)
Your words made me cry, Mr.Lang
Thanks for posting Langer, I carry my thanks, as we all do, and it's not even Thanksgiving yet!
Amazing! A farmer who can use a computer. Now seriously, since you left Dayson got his own room...we (Oscar, Thales, Nilo ,and me) made several jokes about i
Mr Lang, I really didn't expect it!! You are a missing piece in the school... but you've taught us a lot, and we are thankful for that!
PS: I hope you still have the Class of 2013 potato with you...
Mr.Lang!! We miss youu!! It is so good to see you here!! What a pleasant surprise!!
"When things get scary I carry my gold scapular my mother gave me. It reminds me of her protection and how I will always be able to resort to her cozy lap. I carry faith. Right next to it, I carry a delicate heart charm, for one day I am faithful I will carry love."
"Everyone notices how I carry heavy loads of books and papers. They see my pens and report cards. I carry a reputation. For having decided to carry so many responsibilities in my back, they expect too much from me. I carry the need of excelling in all I do. In fact, deeply inside I carry fear, fear of not meeting their high hopes. That is my heaviest load."
I carry a sweet tooth for melancholy, a sensitivity to disparity, a desire to negotiate meaning where perhaps none lies. These occupational hazards I carry always as I carry
the echo of the unsaid.
I carry the residue of Hamlet and the sheen of the salty Atlantic. I carry parables and I carry paradoxes. I carry languages like fighting tides. I carry caffeine on a current through the vein.
I carry sleepless nights and nightless sleeps and in the nightless sleeps I carry
the inimitable weight of what it means to write and what it means to teach, which is to say I carry this hope that you (yes, you) might one day close the book and leave the room---
that you did not carry before.
I carry many memories, many of which are about pain, and loneliness. I do not wish to go in depth about them, since the very thought of looking back makes my heart ache; but the memories alone were not enough to shape my behavior regarding others and myself.
I carry my friends and family, who are the only reason I have kept my sanity. They showed to me that not everyone out there in the world is out to get me.
"I carry the world, and its sounds. I carry the whisper of the different winds. I carry the relaxing sound of rain falling down outside my window. I carry Tom Jobim and his gentle words about the “marvelous city”. I carry an iPod with all I need to feel instantly excited, reflexive, relaxed, motivated... I carry the voice of Dolores O’Riordan in my ears. I carry the accordion of the songs composed by Yann Tiersen. I carry the trumpet played by Chris Botti. I carry waltzes by Tchaikovsky. And if I could, I would carry my piano with me: to a beach, dusky sky, slightly cold and white sand, so the waters could play along."
"I carry the summer nightlife in Malaga, Spain. I carry the religiousness in Oman. I carry the impenetrable waters in Jordan. I carry the agitation of New York. I carry salt plains in Atacama Desert. I carry fjords in Norway. I carry the fresh air in Switzerland. But I also carry the sand in between my fingers, and the fresh breeze blowing across my face of the beaches in Brazil."
"I carry the whoosh of the ocean’s waves, my backyard’s soundtrack, my twilight lullaby. I carry the warmness of the sun and its endless generosity. I carry the footprints that I abandon on the sandy beach: footprints erased by the tide, but tied to my heart and memories; footprints premeditated with great care and vanished without a sound."
"I carry my childhood nonchalance; my brother’s repetitious implorations for me to accompany him in his “wild ventures”, his derision when I tried to resemble the typical girl, his monopoly over my neophyte consciousness. I carry an ardent desire to seek what’s “out-of-bounds”, the wearing influence of my brother’s folly."
Nice to hear from you, Mr.Lang!
"I carried in my backpack a water bottle which was never full; a camera that I never used; some 20 dollars to buy a beach towel which I never bought; my salvation for long and tedious bus rides up and down the Costa Rican coastline, my iPod; my bright red sunglasses to make me feel like one of those ridiculously cheesy teen idols while walking down a traditional village, just to see what it would feel like to be a star."
"I love saying “Amuricah” like a redneck even if I'm not, but feel ashamed when called American anywhere except the U.S. When I’m abroad I prefer the term Brazilian, that way maybe I’m not as generic. But nonetheless, I carry the three jerseys in my closet."
I carry with me my grandmother and the familiar sound of her favorite song, “Viver e não ter a vergonha de ser feliz cantar e cantar e cantar a beleza de ser um eterno aprendiz”. I carry the promise that I will grow up and make her proud, that I will be honest, loving, and caring, all of which she taught me. I carry her strength, battling a silent evil, and the hope that I’ll be as strong as she is. I carry her optimism. I carry her love for life in all that it represents. I carry my admiration for her. I carry all that she is, and that I wish to become. I carry my grandmother, and the ineffable love I have for her.
I box up the worries that I have been carrying with me for so long, for even though I hope the future is grand there is still a lot of distress that it won’t. I worry for my family, for the future of my country, and for my own future for if humanity does not become conscious there will be none. With all the crime and violence that each day becomes more excruciatingly loud it is not possible not to worry if your loved ones will be victims of the atrocities we see everyday. I carry the worry that the corruption my country faces will keep it from growing and showing the beauty it consists of, and the strength of the honest people that battle their way through life in it. I worry so much that it hurts to carry it, it anguishes me, but I have to pack it up and take it with me, because it wouldn’t be honorable to leave it behind.
I carry love, and the much-anticipated heartache that will be leaving it behind once again. Love for my friends, many that I have known forever. I carry their faces, memories, and kind words that lighten up my day. Friends that just the thought of loosing curl my stomach and tear my heart, tears running down my face. It might be a lot to pack, but they are worth it, for they mean so much to me, and wherever I go I will carry them deep in my heart.
I’ll be joining you tomorrow for class, so I thought I’d play along too…
I carry the resemblance of my father. I carry his name too, with the only distinction being a different roman numeral at the end of mine. I carry my father’s mannerisms that I used to make fun of when I was younger as well as his terrible habit of telling long stories. I carry with me my father’s wisdom, hubris, and altruism. I carry his love of basketball and lack of willpower with a Taco Bell menu. I carry these things knowing that one day my son will carry them as well.
I carry my notebook that the last section is reserved for all of the drawings and you can encounter a sketch in every page. I see grammatical errors through my notes. It makes me go back in time and remember the tests without logic that I needed to do in that cold white room. The tests that made me discover that I was dyslexic.
I carry dialogues that I repeat in my mind. I carry possible and idealistic future dialogues that are recorded just like a movie. I carry my own expectations and insecurity. And insecurity and insecurity… and I cannot forget about the insecurity. I don’t know of exactly what. Actually I do. Insecure of everything. I carry the overthinking that causes these insecurities that can be seen
How I wake up in the morning and pack my bag to school and how inside of it I carry my books, my pens, my hairbrush, my phone, my everyday essentials. As I carry these things down the stairs I say goodbye to my parents. In my daily life I carry with me the teachings and the love I feel for them, my dad’s sagacity and my mother’s willingness to help. Not in my bag though, I always carry these feelings in the pocket of my shirt, so that I can have them next to my heart.
When I get to school I carry into the classroom the desire to do and be better. I carry the pencil, which has the power to write my future and the eraser that gives me the power of choice. During breaks I carry more food and more books. I carry the hurry of always feeling like I don’t have enough time to accomplish everything I want to. I carry the dream of wanting to find myself and who I really am in the midst of the running.
I carry a question mark, for all those unsolved problems, queries, and ideas. A big question mark, which, I still hope, will someday bring a heavy load of answers.
I carry a calculator; I carry the love for math. In fact, math is with me for the better, for the worse, for the richer, for the poorer, in sickness or in health.
I carry a close but distant mother. I carry a distant but close father. I carry divorce. I carry adultery. I carry my mother´s tears and my father´s troubles. I carry love.
Gaby . . . no crying! unless there was a smile in those tears . . . what I mean . . . is that is a delight to read a bit from each of you and follow you and the school through FB posts and news how you are all doing! It is also great to tell my students about you guys when relevant in the US history class I am teaching here.
Ms. B., I don't know what you have done with this group, but I am thinking they are writing so well that you may work yourself out of job here soon. Impressed in Berlin!
I don't really want to expose myself on this, so I'll play safe but try to work in order to make the discussion going.
I carry my memories. I wrote it on my paper. I'ts one of the things that will never abandon me since I have a strong memory. I probably will remember all my great achievements, I will remember my bad moments and the stupid things I have done during my life. Sometimes this will help me, sometimes it will make me feel embarrassed or sometimes it will just occupy some space in my head. But the great thing is that when I put my had in my pillow at night, they will not accuse me, will just me a loyal friend.
I carry the wil to change, grow, learn and be able to throw to the ground everything I have and start over; the ability to revive in the truest sense of the word.
I carry the purpose in life of being what I have never dared before, of doing what I have never thought of before and of not only helping others but of digging them up and launching them to the sky.
This is an excerpt from my journal I'm kind of embarrassed of sharing it...