Hey there! I'm a film enthusiast and movies are my passion. In this blog I'll be publishing articles where I write about movies and TV series that I watch. Stay tuned!
Warning: these articles may contain SPOILERS.
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Jasmim from 6 to 8
I hear something vibrating violently. I extend my hand into the darkness of my room in the direction of the origin of that vibration. I touch the screen of my phone and slide my finger over it. The alarm turns off. It’s six thirty-five in the morning. A new day began.
I stay laying on my bed for a few minutes, updating on what happened in the social networks over the night. First Instagram, then Snapchat, Wechat, and, finally, Facebook. The only light sources in my room are the light from my phone’s screen and a thin ray of light that penetrates through a breach in the window covers of my room’s window.
I get up. It’s six forty. I open my room’s door and head to the kitchen. I open the window, which opens onto the Principe Real Garden. The morning Sun timidly illuminates the garden, giving blue tones to the green leaves of the imposing oaks. Nature slowly wakes up, just like me. I hear the birds singing like innocent children that play hide-and-seek. There are children playing in the park too, under their parents’ dormant vigilance. The trees sigh with the delicate morning breeze. The city too slowly wakes up, just like me. I hear cars honking furiously as if honking solved any problem on this world. I see people jogging and doing yoga in the garden, trying to anxiously establish some lost connection with Nature. While observing this scenery, a funny thought comes to me: the garden is Nature’s embassy in the CIty.
I remember that I have a Writing and Argumentation Practice test at eight o’clock and I have to hurry. I take my breakfast, get dressed, and brush my teeth at the speed of a panther pursuing its prey, maybe an antelope. I scribble a few ideas on my notebook. Something for me, something for later, or something for my blog? I don’t know, I just scribble what comes to my mind, as if I had a parabolic antenna introduced in my brain and it was receiving some signal with a message.
It’s seven twenty-five. I open the door of my dad’s apartment and go down the treacherous stairs. I get out of the building to the outside world. I had to hurry to get to college on time. I pass by cafés and stores. I pass marveled tourists looking up while completely blocking the sidewalk. The native lisboners, who are in a hurry and don’t have time for these architectonic delights, get infuriated. I cross the street, looking at both sides. Nowadays it’s necessary to be careful with the Portuguese drivers, especially the lisboners, the most nervous of their kind. You never know what goes on their heads and if they are going to stop or not. You ought to have more caution crossing the street than the No Man’s Land.
Finally, I reach the metro station. I go swiftly down the slow escalators and quickly put my pass over the card reader. The next metro is in two minutes. It’s seven forty. I review a few things for the test while I wait. The metro arrives, and the people get on it. During the ride, I continue to review for the test. Marquês de Pombal, Picoas, Saldanha, Campo Pequeno, Entrecampos, University City. I get off the metro. It’s seven fifty-five.
At the exit of the metro station, a strong gust of wind blows, as if Hurricane Katrina was passing over Lisbon. However, outside there’s no wind at all. I hurry up to get to college.
When I reach classroom 8.1, where the test is going to happen, the teacher had just come in. I arrived on time. It’s eight o’clock in the morning. The test starts.
Jasmim das 6 às 8
Ouço algo vibrar violentamente. Estendo a mão
para a escuridão do meu quarto em direção à origem dessa vibração. Toco no ecrã
do meu telemóvel e deslizo com o dedo sobre este. O alarme desliga-se. São seis
horas e trinta e cinco minutos da manhã. Começou um novo dia.
Fico ainda alguns minutos deitado na cama, a
atualizar-me sobre o aconteceu nas redes sociais durante a noite. Primeiro o
Instagram, depois o Snapchat, o Wechat e, finalmente, o Facebook. As únicas
fontes luminosas no meu quarto são a luz do ecrã do meu telemóvel e um fino
raio de luz que atravessa uma estreita brecha das portadas da janela do meu
quarto.
Levanto-me. São seis horas e quarenta minutos.
Abro a porta do meu quarto e dirijo-me para a cozinha. Abro a janela, que dá
para o Jardim do Príncipe Real. O Sol da manhã ilumina timidamente o jardim, dando
tons azulados às verdes folhas dos carvalhos imponentes. A Natureza acorda
lentamente, tal como eu. Oiço pássaros a cantar alegremente como crianças
inocentes que brincam às escondidas. Também estão crianças a brincar no parque,
sob a vigilância adormecida dos pais. As árvores suspiram com a brisa delicada
da manhã. A cidade também acorda lentamente, tal como eu. Oiço carros a buzinar
furiosamente, como se buzinar resolvesse algum problema deste mundo. Vejo pessoas
a fazer jogging e yoga no jardim, a tentarem estabelecer ansiosamente alguma
ligação perdida com a Natureza. Ao observar este cenário, surge-me um
pensamento engraçado: o jardim é a embaixada da Natureza na Cidade.
Lembro-me que tenho teste de Prática de
Redação e Argumentação às oito horas e tenho que me despachar. Tomo pequeno
almoço, visto-me e lavo os dentes à velocidade de uma pantera que persegue a
sua presa, talvez um antílope. Rabisco algumas ideias no meu bloco de notas. Algo
para mim, algo para mais tarde, algo para pôr no meu blog? Não sei, apenas
rabisco o que me surge na mente, como se tivesse uma antena parabólica
introduzida no cérebro e estivesse a receber algum sinal com uma mensagem.
São sete horas e vinte e cinco minutos. Abro a
porta do apartamento do meu pai e desço as escadas traiçoeiras. Saio do prédio
para o mundo exterior. Tenho que acelerar o passo para chegar a tempo à faculdade.
Passo por cafés e lojas. Passo por turistas maravilhados a olhar para cima
enquanto bloqueiam completamente o passeio. Os nativos lisboetas, que estão com
pressa e não têm tempo para estes deleites arquitetónicos, enfurecem-se.
Atravesso a passadeira com cuidado, olhando para os dois lados. Hoje em dia é
necessário ter cuidado com os condutores portugueses, principalmente os
lisboetas, os mais nervosos de todos. Nunca se sabe o que lhes vai na cabeça e
se vão parar ou não. É preciso ter tanta cautela a atravessar a passadeira como
a atravessar a Terra de Ninguém.
Finalmente, chego
à estação de metro. Desço apressadamente as lentas escadas rolantes e passo
rapidamente o passe sobre o leitor de cartões. Faltam dois minutos para o metro
chegar. São sete horas e quarenta minutos. Revejo algumas coisas para o teste
enquanto espero. O metro chega e as pessoas entram. Na viagem continuo a rever
a matéria para o teste. Marquês de Pombal, Picoas, Saldanha, Campo Pequeno,
Entrecampos, Cidade Universitária. Saio do metro. São sete horas e cinquenta e
cinco minutos.
À saída da estação do metro da Cidade Universitária,
sopra um vendaval como se o Furacão Katrina estivesse a passar por Lisboa. No
entanto, lá fora não está vento nenhum. Acelero o passo e chego à faculdade.
Quando chego à sala 8.1, onde vai ocorrer o
teste, a professora tinha acabado de chegar. Cheguei a tempo. São oito horas da
manhã. O teste começa.
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