Like our parents
Like our parents
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I don't know why, but today I remembered a song that marked my youth: 'Como os Nosso Pais', by the Brazilian singer Belchior, interpreted by the excellent and missed Elis Regina. Here are some stanzas:
"My pain is realizing
That even though we did
Everything, everything, everything, everything, everything, everything we've done
We are still the same and we live
We are still the same and we live
like our parents
our idols
are still the same
And appearances, appearances
don't deceive
You say after them
No one else showed up
Oh, no
you can even say
that I'm out
Or else
that I'm inventing
But it's you who love the past
and that you don't see
And you
It's you who love the past
and that you don't see
That the new, the new always comes
And today I know, I know
who gave me the idea
领英推荐
Of a new consciousness and youth
You are at home guarded by God
Counting your metals
My pain is realizing
That even though we did
Everything, everything, everything, everything, everything, everything we've done
We are still the same and we live
We are still the same and we live
We are still the same and we live
like our parents"
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In addition to being beautiful and wonderful, these stanzas revert to the worlds of our parents, ours, our children and our grandchildren.
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Surviving yet another pandemic, humanity faces a new challenge: living with modernity and, above all, with AI — a box of surprises that many, rightly, are afraid to open. After all, it can be a box full of solutions and, at the same time, a Pandora's Box.
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Taking two steps back, there is an extremely pertinent discussion of the speed of introduction of AI in the world. However, despite the topic being thought-provoking, I'll leave it for another article, as I want to focus on what the stanzas of the composer and singer Belchior lead me to.
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The other day, in the car, I lent my cell phone to my two-year-old grandson. It's remarkable how easy it is to understand how the smartphone works. His little finger glided with such accuracy on the small screen that he could have calmly taken computer classes in his mother's belly. On the same day, at night, I remembered my maternal grandparents — German by birth and Brazilian by heart — who would spend every afternoon on the porch of their house in Santa Tereza, sitting on simple beach chairs, side by side, surrounded by a few words and much peace. Peace that does not exist in today's children, babies and teenagers.
Really, I don't want to be nostalgic, much less one of those people who think their time was better than today, far from it. After all, we have a multitude of things that are immensely better today than in the past. Could enumerate
dozens, such as gender equality, women's emancipation, society's constant struggle against abuse and violence against women and children... and so on.
However, because we are not in Shangri La, it is necessary to stop a little in this frenetic life that we have and think. About what? Anything, as long as it's something unrelated to likes and followers.
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I love to think under the shower, with very hot water, the kind that is bad for the skin, wastes gas, however, brings immense comfort to the soul. There, under the heavy drippings of my shower, I think. Sometimes I contemplate something good that happened that day, sometimes I plan, sometimes I complain to myself. But I think because, luckily, I still don't have a waterproof smartphone, and my partner is there, at the sink, alone and irritated.
The other day, under my faithful friend who spit out strong drops of hot water, I thought about how good French bread is. It goes well with everything: melted cheese, white cheese, fried chicken with onions, scrambled eggs, omelettes, even black/cold beans. I love taking a French roll, fresh from the bakery, taking out the core, giving two very full spoonfuls into the black bean pot and sticking the grains inside the hole of this gastronomic wonder, today attacked by a large group of people, with the argument of which inflames the gastric system.
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When I make this heresy, I remember the nostalgia — I'm full of memories — Salom?o Schvartzman and his sensational classical music program, on Rádio Cultura, Diário da Manh?. In one of these show beauties, he cursed whoever cursed the egg. He said that he couldn't accept having wasted more than twenty years of his life without eating, for breakfast, his traditional fried egg with soft yolk, where the announcer soaked, with the whim of the gods, the bread crumb. Just like I do when stuffing my black bean French roll. It is too good. Do you know why? Because in both cases, comes the taste of people who like the taste of life.
Have a lovely day.