sexta-feira, 10 de agosto de 2012


With that familiar soft touch of her hand she reaches for her purse and pulls out a book. A book.
The two of us look at her with no surprise. My grandfather, a charming old man, sits in the chair between her and me. For forty-seven years he has witnessed what is about to happen and so takes no action. Instead, he rests his back against his chair, looks at the vast, beautiful ocean before him, and takes a deep breath, almost as if trying to gasp in the moment as not to let it slip away like so many others. With this silent support to continue, she proceeds, now with the book in her hands. I rest my arms on the table, the one with the crumbs of the meal we had come here for, and I wait, anxiously, for the words I am about to hear. My body unwilling to simply sit back, I look at her, unconsciously staring at her, hoping that some how I will become a better person even just by listening to whatever she has to say with the book in her hands; hands which have previously held so many other books, turned so many other pages and slowly built their way to the credibility they hold today.
And so, with an obvious urge to go on, she begins. She begins pouring her heart, the one that is touched by the words she has read. She raises no barriers, but instead breaks down the very walls that would possibly prevent our understanding. Her goal is the same as always; to touch her listeners, to challenge them, to provoke a thought in them, one that may somehow come to change them. Her words are profound. She is not a fan of superficiality and as her granddaughter, neither am I. All of a sudden, without warning or permission, tears begin flowing from my eyes. She has accomplished her goal. The reason she reached out for that book has met its home. The passion in her voice has touched my soul in such a way that it cannot go unnoticed, no matter how hard I try. She looks at me, a smile makes its way to her face and then, inevitably, to mine. Without the need for a single word’s sound, we meet in our thoughts. Yes, she is blessed to have me, to have me listen, truly listen. And me, I am blessed to have her, to have her speak, truly speak, with a book in her hands.

Gabriela Fernandes
(My grand-daughter)

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