Teorias

Eu sempre tive minhas teorias, acho que todos temos.
Afinal, somos seres humanos e pensantes...
Penso o tempo todo, as vezes nem sei se faco sentido, mas eu penso mesmo assim...

Mas esse nao e o ponto que quero discutir aqui, alias nem quero discutir.
Eu estava lendo uns dias atras no UOL, alias, nao li, mas de relance vi uma materia que dizia algo no sentido: "Comprovado: DNA de carioca e 90% Portugues".

Porque estou mencionando isso?
Simplesmente porque linguas, idiomas, melhor dizendo, sempre me fascinaram. Como pode haver tantas linguas diferentes? Como pode haver algumas que nao fazem sentido nenhum? E outras que soam tao familiares, que sao faceis de entender e decifrar?

Eu comecei a estudar ingles, quando eu tinha sete anos de idade. Eu me lembro que foi entao que entendi porque a boca dos atores nos filmes estranjeiros se mexia de forma diferente do que estava sendo dito, porque havia uma voz por cima da original - a chamada dublagem.

Mais ou menos na mesma epoca comecei a estudar Estudos Sociais, Geografia e afins, e com isso fiz tambem muitas descobertas sobre a raca humana.
Aprendi que o Brasil foi descoberto em 1500 por Pedro Alvares Cabral, que veio de Portugal, e falava Portugues, com ele, trouxe varios outros Portugueses, que colonizaram o pais e extinguiram (praticamente) os nativos brasileiros (indios e sua lingua, tradicao e costumes).

Com isso ele tambem abriu as portas para pessoas de todas as partes do mundo que em algum momento de suas vidas migraram para a nova terra, e por isso muitos sotaques, linguas, comidas e costumes se estabeleceram em um pais muito vasto e rico em cultura.

Mas voltando ao ponto que quero fazer, eu sempre pensei comigo que os cariocas dizem "xis" por causa dos Portugueses que se instalaram primeiramente no Rio de Janeiro, que por muito tempo foi a capital do Brasil. E quando li o titulo da noticia que nao li... Fiquei feliz em saber que minha teoria nao e tao furada assim...

De mesmo modo que parece logico que os paulistanos falam com um sotaque herdado dos italianos que se instalaram por la, fugindo da crise europeia devido a Revolucao Industrial...

Enfim, nao vou entrar em detalhes historicos e que exigem mais pesquisas e fontes para suportar meus argumentos, mas so fico feliz em saber que minhas ideias sao coerentes.
E do que gosto mesmo e de aprender uma coisa diferente a cada dia nesse mundo de meu Deus que e tao vasto, extenso, diverso e bonito.

Literacy Autobiography

Introduction: I am now finally taking College English, after this one and the reading class that I'm also taking, I'm done taking English Classes. Then I can finally start taking all the Architectural Classes, for sure will be a way more fun! Although, I have to admit, that this classes have been helping me somehow... My writing still not perfect, and may never be, but I can tell I improved. I enjoy the readings, the critical thinking, and writing per se. I just don't enjoy writing methodically, Maybe that's my problem. I just thought of that now.

My first assignment for this class is this Literacy Autobiography, that I'm posting here right now (I don't even now why, people don't read this anyway). Regardless, the instructor gave us all, some questions that we should answer, so she can get to know our reading/writing habits. I bet a bunch of people will reply to that as a survey, but I don't care, and I figured I should make it a essay out of that. Then I thought of publishing in my blog, because I actually think it turned out pretty decent.

That was when I thought about what sometimes I fail in mostly of my writings, because I am so passionate when comes to writing. I just want to put my ideas in the paper, I somewhat organize em, but this is not enough. Plus, most of the time I don't have the patience for edit and review what I write. I do, but I get frustrated, I want it to be perfect right away. And it's impossible, in fact, even when I read this again years from now, I will chose different words, expressions, or will change the way I'll tell the same story.

What proves me right, maybe I should just write, and not keep changing all the time, just correct the technical issues... Anyway, I will have to edit, revise, edit, revise, write, edit and revise once more if I really want to pass this class, and believe me, I will.

Literacy Autobiography

As far as I can remember, I began to write when I was around eight or nine years old. Obviously it wasn’t nothing really elaborated. It were journals, and if remember correctly, my grandma gave me my first journal. She told me that I could write about anything I wanted on it, I could also customize it by adding stickers, pictures and etc. My first journal was pink, with some figures of puppies on the front cover, and it had a little lock with little keys. So, I could make it totally personal and confidential.

I liked that, I started writing about my days, about school, friends, fun stuff, and bad stuff too. I learned that I could spit it out when I was mad or angry, I could empty my chest, speak my mind, and that made me feel good. I didn’t have to keep those feelings anymore, and on top of that, I knew it was safe in there. I’ve been doing this ever since, is almost like a therapy.

By that time, I already had a favorite book: The Little Prince, Antoine Saint Exupery – my mom used to read it to me all the time. My favorite phrase in is also taken from the same book, “For what you have tamed, you become responsible forever.” Evidently I didn’t fix this phrase nor did I understand its meaning when I was eight or nine years old. But this book still is my favorite book.

When I was in fifth grade one of my favorite classes (my favorite has always been Art class) was Literature. Once a week the teacher would open a huge locker full of books, we could check out a book, but we had to finish it before we could get a new one, this could take couple weeks, it was nice though to have this “free time” during class. Once we were done reading we had to do some activity related to the book, to summarize the history to the entire class. We had to be creative, and I absolutely loved that. We also had poetry classes, we learned about the poets, their works, and then we had recitals, plays and so on.

Reading became a habit to me, I would read book after book, all sorts of romances, novels, poetry, science magazines, and etc. I loved to transfer myself to the stories and make these movies inside my head, I’ve always found really entertaining. I’ve read a little bit of everything from Shakespeare to Nietzsche, George Orwell to Kafka, and so many more. Shakespeare is also one of my favorites, together with the Brazilian poets: Vinicius de Moraes, Cecilia Meireles and Carlos Drummond de Andrade.

I still read a lot - internet, newspaper, magazines, and books. The most recent books I read were the Twilight series from Stephenie Meyer, all four of them. Growing up, I’ve always spent my free time finding something to entertain myself. I loved doing crafts with my mom, but I was constantly working on art projects of my own, like: decoration of empty bottles, sawing, painting, drawing, reading and writing. Most of my writings are poems, some I turned into music, because I also play guitar and sing. I had a band, and miss all of that a lot, but the grown up world has taken me.

I’m, for the most part proud of my writings, during a period of time I even had a column in an E- zine, a internet magazine hosted by some of my friends,(they are journalists and have bands as well – they still do) about music, art and entertainment. My grandpa used to tell me that I should go to college for journalism. He liked my chronics, poems, and essays, and he thought I would be a brilliant writer.

In fact, he taught me a lot about reading, for he was always reading, so did my mom and dad. The thing that I wrote that really made me proud of myself, was a poem about and for my grandpa. It was the only thing I could do besides cry when he passed away.

I don’t think I’m nervous about writing, I go for it, but what makes me angry, frustrated and even depressed when comes to writing for college is to write in English. I just can’t, and because of that I have humongous fights with my husband every time he tries to correct me. I feel like the dumbest person in the universe, what hurts me, because writing is really important to me, it has always been big part of my life, and I could do it, but now, I can’t.

Is almost like suffering an accident, and becoming handicapped, there’s always hope, there’s always adaptation, but will never be the same. I still trying, I may never be perfect, (I have never been anyway) but hopefully I will succeed.