Yesterday, during a week night going out, while enjoying a lovely warm evening and night with a cold gin & tonic on the table and talking comfortably with good company, I realised something very simple, yet truly important: being happy is manily enjoying and cherishing all those moments when you are not unhappy.
This means that you are able to appreciate all the small things in life and be happy, even though your days are not over the top amazing.
Unhappiness is a very serious and hard state of mind – and body too – whose only advantage is to teach you and allow you to relativise all the small problems you have to face (although they seem like huge monsters to you) and to low your expectations regarding everyone and everything.
That is when you reach a certain peace of mind that will enable you to live a happy life, where you are more aware of what is good and interesting.
I’ve had the most amazing days in Paris, the beautiful capital of that incredibly interesting country called France. It has a History, it has people, it has gastronomy, it has traditions, it has culture, it has the language, it has places that have been at our disposal, since the beginning of times.
Still, I felt fear burning me from the inside out any time I went out or walked through a crowded place. I knew, as everyone else, that something could happen. I jumped and my heart bumped too hard twice, because of a strong noise coming from an exhaust pipe of a motorbike.
Hardly did I know that everything was not ok. The 14 juillet means the joy of liberté, égalité et fraternité. It has been the celebration of human rights since 1789. And on this crazy year 2016, after several attacks in France, freedom has been attacked in a very cruel way, taking the lives of so many people, children included, with it.
My heart is crying; I wish I could hug France. I wish I could hug the world and say that everything is going to be ok. But the truth is… I wouldn’t even believe in myself.
I feel like a teenage girl who had a summer love affair and is now back to school, apart from her loved one, butterflies living in her stomach with the idea of one day meeting him again.
Paris was perfect. Paris is perfect. I don’t know how someone could be so thorough to think about every single detail in a way so perfect, so clever, that wherever you go, wherever you stand, you get hypnotised. Paris is perfection and even her ugly corners are glamorous, full of a beautiful story to be told and to be written.
Paris is a love song with a happy rhythm. Paris is a beautiful melancholy that brings you closer to yourself and keeps playing on and on inside you head.
Paris is the most beautiful love story I had ever lived. She is my only beloved who will not cheat on me, who will not leave me, who won’t be tired of me and who will always be there, waiting with her arms wide open for me to come home after I had run all my errands. Paris has set me free and my unconditional love takes me home again, no matter how long that way back takes.
Paris is a painting, a poem, a photo. Paris is the ultimate piece of art.
Et elle me manque trop.
Watching the game Portugal – Wales in Paris was something a,azing. Back in 2008, while in Erasmus, I had also supported our team within a portuguese comunity in Paris, but last night was something else.
I joined another portuguese girl in Hard Rock Café, in Montmartre. We shared some cocktails and nachos while talking on and on for hours before the game. When it started, it was amazing to be there, in a foreign country, among foreign people also supporting Portugal on our way to the final.
It was very proudly that we screamed and clapped (and commented on our players, of course!) the both of us.
Outside, it was an incredibly warm night, people were celebrating and in this festive backkground, I think I saw the birth of a beautiful friendship.
If not, at least I had a blast and I have created endearing memories that I will take with me for a long time.
Coming to Paris made me understand one very significant thing: back in Portugal, men don’t know how to flirt. Even cab riders have a meaningful flirtation speech in Paris.
On the first night, the restaurant manager appeared to remember me from the last time I was here, so he made me some sort of company during dinner, as he could not really grab a chair and join me. He loved Portugal and his heart will be devided if France and Portugal meet up in Euro’s final.
He asked me to watch the game with him. And he promised some nice drinks.
On the next day, the taxi driver made an impreddes and impressive speech about Cristiano Ronaldo’s football and personal skills and how he is untouchable for everything he has done for the arabic world. He will definetly marry a portuguese woman if Ronaldo comes to PSG. He asked me if men are all stupid, as I’n not taken yet. He gave me his phone number so we could watch the match together. Or have a cup of coffee. Or “share a moment”.
He will be cheering for Portugal even if the final is against France.
I should move here. I bet I would be married in a blink of an eye. Forget Tinder and all sorts of chats. Paris is the real deal.
Sometimes life changes for the best. Sometimes it changes for the worst. Sometimes it just changes.
Mine has been in constant – stunning – change since 2013. First, for the best, then for the worst – downhill. Then, when it hit rock bottom, it kept changing within the worst, never meaning to take me up again.
It finally came to its senses and it started climbing up, always changing for the best, everyday being a new, incredible ride.
Changing is scary, as it takes us from what we know to somewhere undiscovered, it makes you re-adapt – to not crying everyday, to smiling, to a new workplace, to new people, to loneliness. And adapt takes time and requires an inner and exhausting effort.
The day I felt like a fish agonising on the beach, trying to find water, around people that used to be my home, was the day I realised small changes led me to somewhere new: an open space where I can run wild and free.
Yes, changing is scary, but that’s the beginning of the path to comfort again. And to happiness.
Is sleeping between two pillows, perfectly arranged for my own comfort, not needing to rearrange it every time I go to bed.