#caderninho

[bcarreira]

Fofuras para alegrar o dia...

[valeriadelcueto]

O acalanto do desencanto

O acalanto do desencanto Texto e foto de Valéria del Cueto Se a fila anda, por que não quebrar a rotina e mudar o local da escrevinhação no caderninho? Vou jogar a responsabilidade pela alteração nesse tempo instável que parece o inverno. Por aqui estamos todos meio perdidos. O frio veio forte, mas partiu rapidinho, já dá lugar ao tempo ameno e o anúncio de outro veranico. Tipo Cuiabá, onde o…

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My Recommendation

In this post-Afirmative Action world, sans quotas lives a fairy tale of stellar recommendations and grades making their mark… but what happens when a damnation replaces said recommendation?  How do you survive?

 

I used to like to think myself accomplished for my age. I was 27 and had recently finished a prestigious post-baccalaureate program at a prominent university in New York. The world was my oyster and I had put all of my eggs in one basket to pursue a career in medicine. Since the age of 3 it was all I could talk about. I practically repeated the same thing to anyone and everyone that I met. My aspirations to become a physician and what that would ultimately mean…. what my life would be. All that I could fathom was in one tiny inkling of possibility and I relished the prospect daily.

 

The transition from being an English major to the innate submersion of science was overwhelming to say the least.  The words that ebbed and flowed through my mind were constantly all at once washed away by a cacophony of mis-matched equations that led to nowhere, elements that suffered to erase themselves from my tongue as soon as they were spoken, and an uncanny ability to predict the slowing of time based on how complicated a physics equation may be.  I still remember with absolute wonder and horror how I believe that I must have had a vascular event status post an organic chemistry examination where I needed 5 to 10 minutes to really remember what city I was in, what direction that I was supposed to be walking to get to my train, and even where I lived.

 

It was in all of that time that I met an unlikely ally- at least, I thought so at first.  She was one of the most admired and feared professors in one of the most popular science departments in the country.  While she tended to dress like a vagrant mystic, she had mesmerizing large eyes that could laser focus on you in an auditorium of hundreds and put anyone on edge with the cold silence of her question.  As I was recounting a story of this woman’s effect on her class one day, my mother informed me that she believed that she knew of my professor in an unexpected way.  “Oh… that sounds like Sarah’s neighbor…I’m almost certain of it.”  She stated.  We continued our conversation throughout the day and my mother urged me to inform this professor of our social connection.

 

So, I did.  Given that I was determined to bend my mind to science, I religiously attended Professor W’s office hours.  It was in one of those classes where we were debating the amazing superiority of the human cell receptors, that I decided to mention it.  I explained that my mother and “Sarah” had gone to college together and that they had remained friends and kept in touch. “Oh” she exclaimed.  I watched as her round eyes seemed to soften and her smile widened.  It was in my naivety that I believed that with my hard work, my dedication, that I had shown her that I was entirely capable and that I might be able to reach my goal someday with her help.

 

Over the course of the semester, I was able to hone my newfound scientific intellect into a B for my final class grade.  Though I had accepted my perfectionist tendencies, I wasn’t particularly sad with this because I knew all of the hours of work that I had put into this class.  I welcomed continuing on to fight another day; it instilled a new strain of confidence in me that I thought I didn’t have before.  I was ready to go out and sell myself to medical schools.  I subsequently finished my post-baccalaureate program and circled back around to professor W. Since I knew that I hadn’t done half bad in her class and I thought that she had gotten to know me during my time in the program as I seemed to spend more time in her office than any other, I thought that she would be the perfect recommendation reference.

 

I remember walking into the dark paneled mahogany office and sitting down to catch up.  She was pleasant with slightly flat affect, eyes large as saucers that threatened to bulge out of her head with the sheer motion of a head tilt… I took it all in. I thought that I had timed it right.  I handed her a standard form for the university and asked if she would write my letter of recommendation for medical school.

 

  She slightly slowed what she was doing and repeated back to me what I had asked her.  I looked at her and hesitated. “Yes, I would be honored.” I replied.  She looked slowly down at her desk as if contemplating something and said “Well, if you would like me to write you a recommendation, so be it. I will write it.”  I was ecstatic and couldn’t help almost skipping home that day.  It was a beautiful thing to realize that a dream that I was working so hard for, may actually come to fruition…

 

In the next few months, I was a buzz studying for the MCAT, working, and compiling my medical school file.  In what seemed like no time, I had everything complete.  I remember walking to the office with the list of schools that I wanted to apply to and made sure that my post baccalaureate office sent out the letters to the schools of my choice.  It had truly been a labor of love for me.  Once my applications had been sent out to the schools, I spent my time mulling about and counting down the days for a letter for an interview.  What went from days to weeks quickly became months.  I was subsequently completely confused and dejected.

 

I used to go over the wording of my essay, questioning whether I may have made an offensive comment.   Maybe my grades simply weren’t good enough, or my scores?  I wasn’t certain what could possibly have been the problem.  To make it worse, the barrage of denial letters seemed to come at the very end of the period.  I dared not even ask why I wasn’t up for reconsideration and even decided to apply at the last minute to get my Master of Public Health at my undergraduate university.  And this is when time seemed to stop for me.

 

Somehow, I received vague feedback that there was an “discrepancy” with my application.  Something that the reviewers couldn’t comment about but that put my entire application in question and that they had no choice but to reject me.  I felt like I had been forced to the end of the conveyer belt and was now falling into the “FAIL” heap.   I shuddered to think where I would end up.  This was the beginning of many nights of sleeplessness, high blood pressure, and me slowly coming to the realization that medicine may not be for me, that I was simply not qualified.

 

There were other family friends who had seen my application and recommended me reaching out to other Admissions officers in other branches of the university.  However, when I spoke with those officers, they would feign surprise that I was calling them and referred me back to my own post-baccalaureate department without question, almost clucking that I was confused and overzealous. I was trapped.

 

I decided to take a weekend excursion with my parents down South to visit a family friend.  We had a great time, but our friend noticed my consistent anxious and dejected expression.  When she asked me about it, I explained the situation.  I let her know that medical professional administrators had indicated that there were inconsistencies with my application.  I wondered aloud if I needed experience in the medical field more or to take more classes to increase my GPA even more.  As I considered my options aloud, she remained stoic and then told me a story about her daughter’s friend. 

 

She stated that her daughter’s friend was an accomplished Ivy League graduate, like me, who had applied to graduate school and continued to be rejected for some time before she realized that a letter of recommendation had been her undoing. I sat perplexed and captivated as she told me that not all letters of recommendation were affirmative to the applicant for which they were intended.  She explained that there were some professors who put a knife in the backs of certain students to sink their careers. 

 

What is even more disconcerting is that there is really little to no way for anyone to know that this practice is happening to them.  As a student bleeds out their time, work, hopes, and fears other personnel are essentially bound to secrecy.  This is because a letter of recommendation only has merit when it is confidential.  And in having someone write a poison letter, a student all but gambles and seals their fate with a career ending secrecy pact. 

 

It took some time for me to compose myself.  I soon suspected that I may have a poison letter and was able to hire a wonderfully savvy education consultant who was able to help me re-navigate the admissions process.  He worked with me to polish my ideas, speak louder and more confidently. He also recommended that I visit the schools to which I applied and (of course) to hone my application with a different compilation of my letters.

 

I contacted my post baccalaureate admission office and didn’t hear anything back for weeks.  I called again with no response.  Finally, one day I called the office and was met with one of the staffers answering the phone.  When I said hello and who I was, I was told to call that staffer on their cell phone number.  This was in the early 2000’s so, people hardly ever said this.  I complied and waited about 15 minutes for them to leave the office.  Once we were able to touch base, I was told in no uncertain terms to ever call the post-baccalaureate office again and to only contact the staffer.  I was flabbergasted.  All I could do was hear my heart pound in my throat.  They explained that they would be sure to get my consultant the application that had been sent out previously. And both my consultant and I waited…

 

 A week or so after my conversation my consultant received the application and called me into his office and read me something that changed my life. He sat me down at a long table and had two piles- one taller than the other.  As I watched, he began to read me the letters of the numerous faculty members who supported me from the taller pile.  They all had wonderfully glowing things to say about my abilities and spoke of how I would very likely soar to great heights and accomplish my dreams.  I was extremely humbled. 

 

Then my consultant went to the short pile. Which consisted of one letter.  He held it up and asked if I was ready to hear it.  I took a deep breath and nodded yes. I listened as he, in the words of Professor W., started off with “Though Aisha believes herself to be intelligent, she is in fact one of the worst students that I have ever had.”  The letter was a barrage of insults calling me dim-witted, lazy, mentally deficient among numerous other characteristics.  She likened me to have the mentality of a second grader and stated that I would have no business in the university’s post-baccalaureate programs and certainly could never survive the rigors of medical school.

 

My consultant stopped at the end and the silence weighed on my chest.  I took deep breaths to keep it at bay.  He stated that he wanted me to hear how ridiculous this letter was.  How ugly it was.  He turned to me and questioned me on my own insecurities stating that my resume, my education, everything that I had done was leading up to medical school and that he was certain that this letter was the thing that was killing my medical opportunities.  He implored me to be adamant that I was beyond qualified and to believe it in everything that I did from there on.

 

I walked out of the office that day feeling the weight and the exhilaration of racial terror.  On one hand, it was devastating that I had allowed someone to write these lies about me to share with the world.  On the other hand, the words were so hateful, derogatory, and racist that it went without saying.   Say what you might, but I am still convinced that this professor firmly believed in eugenics and could have easily written a compelling case based on her “concern for my abilities” noted in my letter. 

 

I had gone to some of the best schools in the country, constantly challenged and tried (with a strong GPA) and this woman was saying that I was barely qualified to tie my shoes. It took me time to reflect, recollect, and regenerate into Aisha 2.0, a young woman who was not afraid to share the many facets of herself.  To be gracious in my knowledge, my instinct and the trajectory of my dreams.

 

In the weeks after me reading my “poison letter”, I was finally able to receive interviews in the second round of my medical school application process. With a swipe of my consultant’s hand, the letter was removed and my dreams were finally coming into formation.

 

I got accepted into medical school after my second application submission, went on to graduate with honors, completed residency, fellowship, and now continue to practice. But I continually shudder to think about how lucky I was. If I had not had a consultant and a hero in the admission’s office, I likely would never have been a doctor, even though my grades, my resume, my experience, and my background were all worthy of my going to medical school.

 

I am a unicorn, when I should really be a zebra. I comprise 6% of physicians, when there should really be more as more are needed and most importantly, more are capable. Out of the many legions of students of color who started the medical school process with me, only a few remained. One by one, they were lost to dissuasion, humiliation, and terror just like me. How many other physicians and medical professionals of color have been lost to this exclusionary process? Some may think that this is simply what medicine is, a weed out process. But, students should be selected on the basis of merit and not outright sabotage. The lack of acceptance of people of color in medicine serves as a perpetuation of the poison that continues and feeds our medical system today. If you were dying on a stretcher, you’d want the best physician for the job to save you, but continuation of this “tradition” most likely ensures you’ll have a mediocre physician instead as it works both ways. Who is qualified? What does qualified mean?

 

Where does this leave others in this new political landscape?  Is this where professors like W all but determine who gets to go to a “good school”? Is this where cronyism is rewarded?  And what does that do for the world?  Homogeneity dims the light of creativity and innovation.  If we all have the same thoughts and perspectives, how can one be challenged to be greater than they even knew that they could be?

 

It is in our diversity that we thrive.  It is in our varying perspectives that growth can be cultivated, once and for all.   The lesson of my recommendation is that we need a better way to do better now that the precedent is no more.  The more this country remains divided, the less time that people interact with one another and only increases the possibilities to develop more fears and misconceptions, opening the door for hatred to ensue.  Each possibility of an individual damnation letter is a knife in a student's back, that not only threatens the hopes and dreams of a young soul, but also the progress of a country.

 

 

Source: My Recommendation

[a-go-ni-a]

Às vezes eu fico desanimado com minha arte. Para afastar esse sentimento e me inspirar para desenhar, colei meus desenhos preferidos na parede. Foram feitos entre 2020 e 2023.

- - -

Sometimes I felt discouraged about my art. To make this feeling go away and to give inspiration to draw, I hung my fave drawings on the wall. They were made between 2020 and 2023.

[fatdaypants]

Não tenha uma comunicação verbal diferente da corporal

Isso é a coisa mais ardilosa que se pode fazer

Isso foi escrito no cardeninho de falta de comunicação do satanás

Você vai fazer tudo mas não vai usar a palavra e ao não usar a palavra não tá errado

É verdade, não falo com a minha mãe faz mais de um ano, ela não pensa na consequência no futuro sobre o que ela fala pra mim. Filha é pra sempre né pode falar o que quiser. Não pra mim, pra mim já deu.

Escolha bem o veículo de comunicação

Você não vai mandar um email pro bombeiro pra apagar o fogo

Às vezes a culpa é sua, não é do destino

Se você não se comunicar direito você vai perder 12 nos da sua vida

Se você não souber se comunicar, você perde uma vida inteira

**Tá bom, agora eu sei onde eu tenho razão e onde eu sou tóxica pra você. **

[leozinhocarvalhinho]

[wordpress-blaze-221734350]

My Recommendation

In this post-Afirmative Action world, sans quotas lives a fairy tale of stellar recommendations and grades making their mark… but what happens when a damnation replaces said recommendation?  How do you survive?

 

I used to like to think myself accomplished for my age. I was 27 and had recently finished a prestigious post-baccalaureate program at a prominent university in New York. The world was my oyster and I had put all of my eggs in one basket to pursue a career in medicine. Since the age of 3 it was all I could talk about. I practically repeated the same thing to anyone and everyone that I met. My aspirations to become a physician and what that would ultimately mean…. what my life would be. All that I could fathom was in one tiny inkling of possibility and I relished the prospect daily.

 

The transition from being an English major to the innate submersion of science was overwhelming to say the least.  The words that ebbed and flowed through my mind were constantly all at once washed away by a cacophony of mis-matched equations that led to nowhere, elements that suffered to erase themselves from my tongue as soon as they were spoken, and an uncanny ability to predict the slowing of time based on how complicated a physics equation may be.  I still remember with absolute wonder and horror how I believe that I must have had a vascular event status post an organic chemistry examination where I needed 5 to 10 minutes to really remember what city I was in, what direction that I was supposed to be walking to get to my train, and even where I lived.

 

It was in all of that time that I met an unlikely ally- at least, I thought so at first.  She was one of the most admired and feared professors in one of the most popular science departments in the country.  While she tended to dress like a vagrant mystic, she had mesmerizing large eyes that could laser focus on you in an auditorium of hundreds and put anyone on edge with the cold silence of her question.  As I was recounting a story of this woman’s effect on her class one day, my mother informed me that she believed that she knew of my professor in an unexpected way.  “Oh… that sounds like Sarah’s neighbor…I’m almost certain of it.”  She stated.  We continued our conversation throughout the day and my mother urged me to inform this professor of our social connection.

 

So, I did.  Given that I was determined to bend my mind to science, I religiously attended Professor W’s office hours.  It was in one of those classes where we were debating the amazing superiority of the human cell receptors, that I decided to mention it.  I explained that my mother and “Sarah” had gone to college together and that they had remained friends and kept in touch. “Oh” she exclaimed.  I watched as her round eyes seemed to soften and her smile widened.  It was in my naivety that I believed that with my hard work, my dedication, that I had shown her that I was entirely capable and that I might be able to reach my goal someday with her help.

 

Over the course of the semester, I was able to hone my newfound scientific intellect into a B for my final class grade.  Though I had accepted my perfectionist tendencies, I wasn’t particularly sad with this because I knew all of the hours of work that I had put into this class.  I welcomed continuing on to fight another day; it instilled a new strain of confidence in me that I thought I didn’t have before.  I was ready to go out and sell myself to medical schools.  I subsequently finished my post-baccalaureate program and circled back around to professor W. Since I knew that I hadn’t done half bad in her class and I thought that she had gotten to know me during my time in the program as I seemed to spend more time in her office than any other, I thought that she would be the perfect recommendation reference.

 

I remember walking into the dark paneled mahogany office and sitting down to catch up.  She was pleasant with slightly flat affect, eyes large as saucers that threatened to bulge out of her head with the sheer motion of a head tilt… I took it all in. I thought that I had timed it right.  I handed her a standard form for the university and asked if she would write my letter of recommendation for medical school.

 

  She slightly slowed what she was doing and repeated back to me what I had asked her.  I looked at her and hesitated. “Yes, I would be honored.” I replied.  She looked slowly down at her desk as if contemplating something and said “Well, if you would like me to write you a recommendation, so be it. I will write it.”  I was ecstatic and couldn’t help almost skipping home that day.  It was a beautiful thing to realize that a dream that I was working so hard for, may actually come to fruition…

 

In the next few months, I was a buzz studying for the MCAT, working, and compiling my medical school file.  In what seemed like no time, I had everything complete.  I remember walking to the office with the list of schools that I wanted to apply to and made sure that my post baccalaureate office sent out the letters to the schools of my choice.  It had truly been a labor of love for me.  Once my applications had been sent out to the schools, I spent my time mulling about and counting down the days for a letter for an interview.  What went from days to weeks quickly became months.  I was subsequently completely confused and dejected.

 

I used to go over the wording of my essay, questioning whether I may have made an offensive comment.   Maybe my grades simply weren’t good enough, or my scores?  I wasn’t certain what could possibly have been the problem.  To make it worse, the barrage of denial letters seemed to come at the very end of the period.  I dared not even ask why I wasn’t up for reconsideration and even decided to apply at the last minute to get my Master of Public Health at my undergraduate university.  And this is when time seemed to stop for me.

 

Somehow, I received vague feedback that there was an “discrepancy” with my application.  Something that the reviewers couldn’t comment about but that put my entire application in question and that they had no choice but to reject me.  I felt like I had been forced to the end of the conveyer belt and was now falling into the “FAIL” heap.   I shuddered to think where I would end up.  This was the beginning of many nights of sleeplessness, high blood pressure, and me slowly coming to the realization that medicine may not be for me, that I was simply not qualified.

 

There were other family friends who had seen my application and recommended me reaching out to other Admissions officers in other branches of the university.  However, when I spoke with those officers, they would feign surprise that I was calling them and referred me back to my own post-baccalaureate department without question, almost clucking that I was confused and overzealous. I was trapped.

 

I decided to take a weekend excursion with my parents down South to visit a family friend.  We had a great time, but our friend noticed my consistent anxious and dejected expression.  When she asked me about it, I explained the situation.  I let her know that medical professional administrators had indicated that there were inconsistencies with my application.  I wondered aloud if I needed experience in the medical field more or to take more classes to increase my GPA even more.  As I considered my options aloud, she remained stoic and then told me a story about her daughter’s friend. 

 

She stated that her daughter’s friend was an accomplished Ivy League graduate, like me, who had applied to graduate school and continued to be rejected for some time before she realized that a letter of recommendation had been her undoing. I sat perplexed and captivated as she told me that not all letters of recommendation were affirmative to the applicant for which they were intended.  She explained that there were some professors who put a knife in the backs of certain students to sink their careers. 

 

What is even more disconcerting is that there is really little to no way for anyone to know that this practice is happening to them.  As a student bleeds out their time, work, hopes, and fears other personnel are essentially bound to secrecy.  This is because a letter of recommendation only has merit when it is confidential.  And in having someone write a poison letter, a student all but gambles and seals their fate with a career ending secrecy pact. 

 

It took some time for me to compose myself.  I soon suspected that I may have a poison letter and was able to hire a wonderfully savvy education consultant who was able to help me re-navigate the admissions process.  He worked with me to polish my ideas, speak louder and more confidently. He also recommended that I visit the schools to which I applied and (of course) to hone my application with a different compilation of my letters.

 

I contacted my post baccalaureate admission office and didn’t hear anything back for weeks.  I called again with no response.  Finally, one day I called the office and was met with one of the staffers answering the phone.  When I said hello and who I was, I was told to call that staffer on their cell phone number.  This was in the early 2000’s so, people hardly ever said this.  I complied and waited about 15 minutes for them to leave the office.  Once we were able to touch base, I was told in no uncertain terms to ever call the post-baccalaureate office again and to only contact the staffer.  I was flabbergasted.  All I could do was hear my heart pound in my throat.  They explained that they would be sure to get my consultant the application that had been sent out previously. And both my consultant and I waited…

 

 A week or so after my conversation my consultant received the application and called me into his office and read me something that changed my life. He sat me down at a long table and had two piles- one taller than the other.  As I watched, he began to read me the letters of the numerous faculty members who supported me from the taller pile.  They all had wonderfully glowing things to say about my abilities and spoke of how I would very likely soar to great heights and accomplish my dreams.  I was extremely humbled. 

 

Then my consultant went to the short pile. Which consisted of one letter.  He held it up and asked if I was ready to hear it.  I took a deep breath and nodded yes. I listened as he, in the words of Professor W., started off with “Though Aisha believes herself to be intelligent, she is in fact one of the worst students that I have ever had.”  The letter was a barrage of insults calling me dim-witted, lazy, mentally deficient among numerous other characteristics.  She likened me to have the mentality of a second grader and stated that I would have no business in the university’s post-baccalaureate programs and certainly could never survive the rigors of medical school.

 

My consultant stopped at the end and the silence weighed on my chest.  I took deep breaths to keep it at bay.  He stated that he wanted me to hear how ridiculous this letter was.  How ugly it was.  He turned to me and questioned me on my own insecurities stating that my resume, my education, everything that I had done was leading up to medical school and that he was certain that this letter was the thing that was killing my medical opportunities.  He implored me to be adamant that I was beyond qualified and to believe it in everything that I did from there on.

 

I walked out of the office that day feeling the weight and the exhilaration of racial terror.  On one hand, it was devastating that I had allowed someone to write these lies about me to share with the world.  On the other hand, the words were so hateful, derogatory, and racist that it went without saying.   Say what you might, but I am still convinced that this professor firmly believed in eugenics and could have easily written a compelling case based on her “concern for my abilities” noted in my letter. 

 

I had gone to some of the best schools in the country, constantly challenged and tried (with a strong GPA) and this woman was saying that I was barely qualified to tie my shoes. It took me time to reflect, recollect, and regenerate into Aisha 2.0, a young woman who was not afraid to share the many facets of herself.  To be gracious in my knowledge, my instinct and the trajectory of my dreams.

 

In the weeks after me reading my “poison letter”, I was finally able to receive interviews in the second round of my medical school application process. With a swipe of my consultant’s hand, the letter was removed and my dreams were finally coming into formation.

 

I got accepted into medical school after my second application submission, went on to graduate with honors, completed residency, fellowship, and now continue to practice. But I continually shudder to think about how lucky I was. If I had not had a consultant and a hero in the admission’s office, I likely would never have been a doctor, even though my grades, my resume, my experience, and my background were all worthy of my going to medical school.

 

I am a unicorn, when I should really be a zebra. I comprise 6% of physicians, when there should really be more as more are needed and most importantly, more are capable. Out of the many legions of students of color who started the medical school process with me, only a few remained. One by one, they were lost to dissuasion, humiliation, and terror just like me. How many other physicians and medical professionals of color have been lost to this exclusionary process? Some may think that this is simply what medicine is, a weed out process. But, students should be selected on the basis of merit and not outright sabotage. The lack of acceptance of people of color in medicine serves as a perpetuation of the poison that continues and feeds our medical system today. If you were dying on a stretcher, you’d want the best physician for the job to save you, but continuation of this “tradition” most likely ensures you’ll have a mediocre physician instead as it works both ways. Who is qualified? What does qualified mean?

 

Where does this leave others in this new political landscape?  Is this where professors like W all but determine who gets to go to a “good school”? Is this where cronyism is rewarded?  And what does that do for the world?  Homogeneity dims the light of creativity and innovation.  If we all have the same thoughts and perspectives, how can one be challenged to be greater than they even knew that they could be?

 

It is in our diversity that we thrive.  It is in our varying perspectives that growth can be cultivated, once and for all.   The lesson of my recommendation is that we need a better way to do better now that the precedent is no more.  The more this country remains divided, the less time that people interact with one another and only increases the possibilities to develop more fears and misconceptions, opening the door for hatred to ensue.  Each possibility of an individual damnation letter is a knife in a student's back, that not only threatens the hopes and dreams of a young soul, but also the progress of a country.

 

 

Source: My Recommendation

[virtuallghosts]

— Não vou sair esse fim de semana, não vou, não vou...Não vou...

[m-ind]

CADERNINHO SIMPLICIDADE Scans [61-85]

[geekpopnews]

3 livros perfeitos para ler nos dias quentes

Transforme o calor em histórias envolventes! Descubra os 3 livros perfeitos para ler nos dias quentes.

Com as temperaturas elevadas e o sol radiante marcando presença, desfrutar do calorão ganha um toque especial ao mergulharmos em 3 livros leves e revigorantes. Deste modo, nos momentos em que os termômetros estão lá em cima, a escolha certa de livro pode fazer toda a diferença. Então, resolvi escolher três histórias que, como uma brisa suave, proporcionam uma fuga deliciosa para aqueles que…

[lookandbooks]

O caderninho de desafios de Dash & Lily - David Levithan

O caderninho de desafios de Dash & Lily é o livro que inspirou a série da Netflix. 

O Natal está quase chegando, o que é motivo de grande alegria para Lily, que sente que chegou a hora, finalmente, de se apaixonar. Para encontrar sua cara-metade de forma nada óbvia, ela montou, junto de seu irmão, um plano: deixou um caderninho vermelho repleto de tarefas em uma das prateleiras de sua livraria favorita – e mais caótica, vale ressaltar – da cidade, na expectativa de que o cara certo apareça e aceite o desafio. 

Dash, que não é exatamente um fã do período natalino, encontra o caderninho na sua também favorita livraria e decide – por que não? – topar a missão. Intrigado e curioso, ele completa as primeiras tarefas, e os dois passam a se comunicar e conhecer um ao outro utilizando como ponte o caderninho, que é deixado e resgatado, a cada vez, em um ponto diferente de Manhattan. 

Mas Dash é mesmo o cara certo? 

A conexão entre eles é imbatível, no entanto, à medida que o tempo passa, os dois começam a questionar se sua relação está destinada a permanecer apenas nas páginas de papel ou poderão, um dia, alçar voo e ganhar vida e cores. 

Será que suas versões em carne e osso conseguirão manter essa crescente sintonia? Ou tudo isso revelará ser apenas uma cômica e desastrosa bagunça? 

Co-escrito por David Levithan e Rachel Cohn e indicado ao prêmio Goodreads Choice Awards de Melhor Ficção Young Adult, O caderninho de desafios de Dash & Lily é uma divertida – e natalina – história que fará os leitores vasculharem as prateleiras das livrarias em busca de um específico caderninho vermelho e, é claro, um amor. Perfeito para fãs de Emily em Paris, Para todos os garotos que já amei e A barraca do beijo. 

"O livro realmente transporta o leitor para a cidade de Nova York, dando um vislumbre de como é o Natal por lá." – The Guardian

[wordpress-blaze-221734350]

My Recommendation

In this post-Afirmative Action world, sans quotas lives a fairy tale of stellar recommendations and grades making their mark… but what happens when a damnation replaces said recommendation?  How do you survive?

 

I used to like to think myself accomplished for my age. I was 27 and had recently finished a prestigious post-baccalaureate program at a prominent university in New York. The world was my oyster and I had put all of my eggs in one basket to pursue a career in medicine. Since the age of 3 it was all I could talk about. I practically repeated the same thing to anyone and everyone that I met. My aspirations to become a physician and what that would ultimately mean…. what my life would be. All that I could fathom was in one tiny inkling of possibility and I relished the prospect daily.

 

The transition from being an English major to the innate submersion of science was overwhelming to say the least.  The words that ebbed and flowed through my mind were constantly all at once washed away by a cacophony of mis-matched equations that led to nowhere, elements that suffered to erase themselves from my tongue as soon as they were spoken, and an uncanny ability to predict the slowing of time based on how complicated a physics equation may be.  I still remember with absolute wonder and horror how I believe that I must have had a vascular event status post an organic chemistry examination where I needed 5 to 10 minutes to really remember what city I was in, what direction that I was supposed to be walking to get to my train, and even where I lived.

 

It was in all of that time that I met an unlikely ally- at least, I thought so at first.  She was one of the most admired and feared professors in one of the most popular science departments in the country.  While she tended to dress like a vagrant mystic, she had mesmerizing large eyes that could laser focus on you in an auditorium of hundreds and put anyone on edge with the cold silence of her question.  As I was recounting a story of this woman’s effect on her class one day, my mother informed me that she believed that she knew of my professor in an unexpected way.  “Oh… that sounds like Sarah’s neighbor…I’m almost certain of it.”  She stated.  We continued our conversation throughout the day and my mother urged me to inform this professor of our social connection.

 

So, I did.  Given that I was determined to bend my mind to science, I religiously attended Professor W’s office hours.  It was in one of those classes where we were debating the amazing superiority of the human cell receptors, that I decided to mention it.  I explained that my mother and “Sarah” had gone to college together and that they had remained friends and kept in touch. “Oh” she exclaimed.  I watched as her round eyes seemed to soften and her smile widened.  It was in my naivety that I believed that with my hard work, my dedication, that I had shown her that I was entirely capable and that I might be able to reach my goal someday with her help.

 

Over the course of the semester, I was able to hone my newfound scientific intellect into a B for my final class grade.  Though I had accepted my perfectionist tendencies, I wasn’t particularly sad with this because I knew all of the hours of work that I had put into this class.  I welcomed continuing on to fight another day; it instilled a new strain of confidence in me that I thought I didn’t have before.  I was ready to go out and sell myself to medical schools.  I subsequently finished my post-baccalaureate program and circled back around to professor W. Since I knew that I hadn’t done half bad in her class and I thought that she had gotten to know me during my time in the program as I seemed to spend more time in her office than any other, I thought that she would be the perfect recommendation reference.

 

I remember walking into the dark paneled mahogany office and sitting down to catch up.  She was pleasant with slightly flat affect, eyes large as saucers that threatened to bulge out of her head with the sheer motion of a head tilt… I took it all in. I thought that I had timed it right.  I handed her a standard form for the university and asked if she would write my letter of recommendation for medical school.

 

  She slightly slowed what she was doing and repeated back to me what I had asked her.  I looked at her and hesitated. “Yes, I would be honored.” I replied.  She looked slowly down at her desk as if contemplating something and said “Well, if you would like me to write you a recommendation, so be it. I will write it.”  I was ecstatic and couldn’t help almost skipping home that day.  It was a beautiful thing to realize that a dream that I was working so hard for, may actually come to fruition…

 

In the next few months, I was a buzz studying for the MCAT, working, and compiling my medical school file.  In what seemed like no time, I had everything complete.  I remember walking to the office with the list of schools that I wanted to apply to and made sure that my post baccalaureate office sent out the letters to the schools of my choice.  It had truly been a labor of love for me.  Once my applications had been sent out to the schools, I spent my time mulling about and counting down the days for a letter for an interview.  What went from days to weeks quickly became months.  I was subsequently completely confused and dejected.

 

I used to go over the wording of my essay, questioning whether I may have made an offensive comment.   Maybe my grades simply weren’t good enough, or my scores?  I wasn’t certain what could possibly have been the problem.  To make it worse, the barrage of denial letters seemed to come at the very end of the period.  I dared not even ask why I wasn’t up for reconsideration and even decided to apply at the last minute to get my Master of Public Health at my undergraduate university.  And this is when time seemed to stop for me.

 

Somehow, I received vague feedback that there was an “discrepancy” with my application.  Something that the reviewers couldn’t comment about but that put my entire application in question and that they had no choice but to reject me.  I felt like I had been forced to the end of the conveyer belt and was now falling into the “FAIL” heap.   I shuddered to think where I would end up.  This was the beginning of many nights of sleeplessness, high blood pressure, and me slowly coming to the realization that medicine may not be for me, that I was simply not qualified.

 

There were other family friends who had seen my application and recommended me reaching out to other Admissions officers in other branches of the university.  However, when I spoke with those officers, they would feign surprise that I was calling them and referred me back to my own post-baccalaureate department without question, almost clucking that I was confused and overzealous. I was trapped.

 

I decided to take a weekend excursion with my parents down South to visit a family friend.  We had a great time, but our friend noticed my consistent anxious and dejected expression.  When she asked me about it, I explained the situation.  I let her know that medical professional administrators had indicated that there were inconsistencies with my application.  I wondered aloud if I needed experience in the medical field more or to take more classes to increase my GPA even more.  As I considered my options aloud, she remained stoic and then told me a story about her daughter’s friend. 

 

She stated that her daughter’s friend was an accomplished Ivy League graduate, like me, who had applied to graduate school and continued to be rejected for some time before she realized that a letter of recommendation had been her undoing. I sat perplexed and captivated as she told me that not all letters of recommendation were affirmative to the applicant for which they were intended.  She explained that there were some professors who put a knife in the backs of certain students to sink their careers. 

 

What is even more disconcerting is that there is really little to no way for anyone to know that this practice is happening to them.  As a student bleeds out their time, work, hopes, and fears other personnel are essentially bound to secrecy.  This is because a letter of recommendation only has merit when it is confidential.  And in having someone write a poison letter, a student all but gambles and seals their fate with a career ending secrecy pact. 

 

It took some time for me to compose myself.  I soon suspected that I may have a poison letter and was able to hire a wonderfully savvy education consultant who was able to help me re-navigate the admissions process.  He worked with me to polish my ideas, speak louder and more confidently. He also recommended that I visit the schools to which I applied and (of course) to hone my application with a different compilation of my letters.

 

I contacted my post baccalaureate admission office and didn’t hear anything back for weeks.  I called again with no response.  Finally, one day I called the office and was met with one of the staffers answering the phone.  When I said hello and who I was, I was told to call that staffer on their cell phone number.  This was in the early 2000’s so, people hardly ever said this.  I complied and waited about 15 minutes for them to leave the office.  Once we were able to touch base, I was told in no uncertain terms to ever call the post-baccalaureate office again and to only contact the staffer.  I was flabbergasted.  All I could do was hear my heart pound in my throat.  They explained that they would be sure to get my consultant the application that had been sent out previously. And both my consultant and I waited…

 

 A week or so after my conversation my consultant received the application and called me into his office and read me something that changed my life. He sat me down at a long table and had two piles- one taller than the other.  As I watched, he began to read me the letters of the numerous faculty members who supported me from the taller pile.  They all had wonderfully glowing things to say about my abilities and spoke of how I would very likely soar to great heights and accomplish my dreams.  I was extremely humbled. 

 

Then my consultant went to the short pile. Which consisted of one letter.  He held it up and asked if I was ready to hear it.  I took a deep breath and nodded yes. I listened as he, in the words of Professor W., started off with “Though Aisha believes herself to be intelligent, she is in fact one of the worst students that I have ever had.”  The letter was a barrage of insults calling me dim-witted, lazy, mentally deficient among numerous other characteristics.  She likened me to have the mentality of a second grader and stated that I would have no business in the university’s post-baccalaureate programs and certainly could never survive the rigors of medical school.

 

My consultant stopped at the end and the silence weighed on my chest.  I took deep breaths to keep it at bay.  He stated that he wanted me to hear how ridiculous this letter was.  How ugly it was.  He turned to me and questioned me on my own insecurities stating that my resume, my education, everything that I had done was leading up to medical school and that he was certain that this letter was the thing that was killing my medical opportunities.  He implored me to be adamant that I was beyond qualified and to believe it in everything that I did from there on.

 

I walked out of the office that day feeling the weight and the exhilaration of racial terror.  On one hand, it was devastating that I had allowed someone to write these lies about me to share with the world.  On the other hand, the words were so hateful, derogatory, and racist that it went without saying.   Say what you might, but I am still convinced that this professor firmly believed in eugenics and could have easily written a compelling case based on her “concern for my abilities” noted in my letter. 

 

I had gone to some of the best schools in the country, constantly challenged and tried (with a strong GPA) and this woman was saying that I was barely qualified to tie my shoes. It took me time to reflect, recollect, and regenerate into Aisha 2.0, a young woman who was not afraid to share the many facets of herself.  To be gracious in my knowledge, my instinct and the trajectory of my dreams.

 

In the weeks after me reading my “poison letter”, I was finally able to receive interviews in the second round of my medical school application process. With a swipe of my consultant’s hand, the letter was removed and my dreams were finally coming into formation.

 

I got accepted into medical school after my second application submission, went on to graduate with honors, completed residency, fellowship, and now continue to practice. But I continually shudder to think about how lucky I was. If I had not had a consultant and a hero in the admission’s office, I likely would never have been a doctor, even though my grades, my resume, my experience, and my background were all worthy of my going to medical school.

 

I am a unicorn, when I should really be a zebra. I comprise 6% of physicians, when there should really be more as more are needed and most importantly, more are capable. Out of the many legions of students of color who started the medical school process with me, only a few remained. One by one, they were lost to dissuasion, humiliation, and terror just like me. How many other physicians and medical professionals of color have been lost to this exclusionary process? Some may think that this is simply what medicine is, a weed out process. But, students should be selected on the basis of merit and not outright sabotage. The lack of acceptance of people of color in medicine serves as a perpetuation of the poison that continues and feeds our medical system today. If you were dying on a stretcher, you’d want the best physician for the job to save you, but continuation of this “tradition” most likely ensures you’ll have a mediocre physician instead as it works both ways. Who is qualified? What does qualified mean?

 

Where does this leave others in this new political landscape?  Is this where professors like W all but determine who gets to go to a “good school”? Is this where cronyism is rewarded?  And what does that do for the world?  Homogeneity dims the light of creativity and innovation.  If we all have the same thoughts and perspectives, how can one be challenged to be greater than they even knew that they could be?

 

It is in our diversity that we thrive.  It is in our varying perspectives that growth can be cultivated, once and for all.   The lesson of my recommendation is that we need a better way to do better now that the precedent is no more.  The more this country remains divided, the less time that people interact with one another and only increases the possibilities to develop more fears and misconceptions, opening the door for hatred to ensue.  Each possibility of an individual damnation letter is a knife in a student's back, that not only threatens the hopes and dreams of a young soul, but also the progress of a country.

 

 

Source: My Recommendation

[espuor]

g. يوميًا

liturgies in hazelnut cream with almonds—notes de prune noire, 385.

parte um · num caderninho com rendas e uma taça de sangue fresco ao lado, anoto todas as flores de cada mês.

꽃,⠀⠀✿ް　⠀𝗃𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗂𝗋𝗈⠀⠀𑁧⠀⠀antúrio, áster, cravina, lisianto, azaléia, boca de leão, amor perfeito e petúnia.

sacros resplandecentes,  𝑓𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗂𝗋𝗈 🌞📿ㅤ⃰  ✧｡  ♡ lírio; kalanchoe; violeta; gardênia; pingo-de-ouro; gérbera; impatiens.

{ 𝚎𝚙, ❦ }   clássico───março;   narciso, papoula, angélica, flor-sangue, bromélia, lírios de calla, antúrio, forsístia e margarida.

flores de ˊ abril, ✿ ˋ ipê-amarelo; nemophila; marmelo-florido; lavatera; tagete; lupinos; canola; primula.

(  𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗈.   🦪 ⸰ 𓂋   𝟢𝟧  ✵♡  )   lírio-do-vale, hortênsia, lavanda, dália, crisântemo, peônia, espinheiro e flor-de-maio.

floração d. 𖥸 junho ──[...]⠀ zínia; ipê-roxo; verbena; buganvília; camomila; astromélia; capuchinha; alecrins-de-campo.

[bcarreira]

Cases fofas para caderninhos!!!

[valeriadelcueto]

Minhas regras

Minhas regras Texto e foto de Valéria del Cueto Estou enrolando, pra variar. Se tenho um motivo, o prazer de abrir um novo caderninho para rabiscar as crônicas do Sem Fim, outras razões me levam a procurar uma rota de fuga da atividade e da realidade. A troca de caderninho é a passagem que os leitores fiéis já a reconhecem de outras leituras. Acontece graças ao costume de escrevinhar textos…

[sunnymoonny]

eu cuido de você - dk

"Você era uma pessoa atarefada. Só sabia correr de um lado para o outro sem pensar muito em si mesma. Mas, para falar a verdade, por que se preocupar quando Dokyeom cuidava de você sem falha alguma?"

Não aguentava mais ter que esticar o corpo de tempo em tempo para sentir um conforto momentâneo. Aquela rotina acabava com você. Sentir que deveria algo à alguém, querer agradar aos outros e achar que consegue fazer tudo sozinha eram alguns de seus defeitos, mas, infelizmente, não conseguia desfazer deles do dia pra noite. Com o tempo, percebeu que coisas em sua vida começaram a diminuir. Sua animação, seu ciclo social, sua alimentação e com isso, seu peso. De fato, não se cuidava.

E isso irritava Seokmin.

Havia o conhecido havia poucos meses, ainda estavam na fase de conhecerem um ao outro e estabelecerem limites, mas isso não impedia Seokmin de ser um anjo em sua vida. Em apenas alguns dias após te conhecer, Seokmin já andava com um elástico de cabelo em um dos pulsos, pronto para amarrar seu cabelo quando precisasse, percebendo seu estresse diário com os fios que caiam sobre seu rosto. Seokmin até mesmo fez uma lista mental, e em um caderninho, com os seus gostos em bebidas e comidas, pra que depois de um dia longo, ele pudesse te mimar da forma como bem entendesse.

Você começou a perceber esses pequenos detalhes no rapaz no terceiro mês de convivência, onde foi surpreendida com uma marmita aguardando por você na recepção de seu serviço.

Seokmin ☺️🫶🏻: Come tudo e depois manda uma foto da vasilha!

Se via caindo pelos encantos do rapaz cada vez mais e, em certo momento, o chamava para ir em sua casa para passar uma tarde, assistir um filme ou te ver trabalhando. Como amigos. Claro.

"Mas isso não faz sentido, Sr. Lee. O arquivo não seria corrompido tão facilmente se..." Escutou três batidas na porta do seu quarto, vendo um Seokmin passar por ela. "Só um momento." Mutou a ligação e se virou para o rapaz. "O que foi?"

"Precisa de algo? Uma água? Um docinho? Tá com fome?"

Riu desacreditada. Olhou para sua mesa e viu itens das recentes visitas de Seokmin sobre o móvel. Uma garrafa de água mal tocada, uma bala pela metade e um marcarão já frio. "Acho que já o suficiente, Min. Obrigada" Agradeceu a ele e prendeu alguns fios que te atrapalhavam sobre seus olhos, voltando a falar com seu chefe ao telefone.

Seokmin olhou a situação e não pôde deixar de se preocupar. Poxa, era seu dia de folga. Por que estava trabalhando? A comida estava ruim? Deveria pelo menos beber a água. E o cabelo...bem, ele deveria dar um jeito nisso.

Tranquilamente e tentando não fazer barulho, Seokmin se posicionou atrás de você e juntou seus fios de cabelo em um rabo de cavalo, como havia pegado o hábito de fazer em você. Percebeu você pular pelo susto e se embolar em algumas palavras, mas logo se recompor e continuar o que estava fazendo, dando o mesmo incentivo para o rapaz. Tirou o elástico de um dos pulsos e amarrou o cabelo com delicadeza, assim como havia aprendido em um tutorial que havia assistido assim que te conheceu.

Seokmin ficou orgulhoso, se afastou e viu você virar o rosto, sorrindo para ele e voltando a falar com seu chefe. Se ele tinha uma certeza, era que gostava de você e de que gostava ainda mais de cuidar de você, gostava de amar você, mesmo que ainda não carregasse o título de namorado. Ele gostava de se sentir importante na sua vida, assim como você já era importante na dele.

"Então eu tento localizar o estagiário que trocou essa senha, provavelmente foi um dos que contratamos na última semana. Uhum. Certo, obrigada Sr. Lee" Desligou o celular e encostou na cadeira, relaxando seu corpo de todo o estresse.

"Quer tomar um pouquinho de água agora?" Seokmin perguntou, apontando para a garrafinha ainda cheia sobre a mesa.

"Deixa eu só finalizar esse arquivo e mandar ele pro setor de marketing, mais alguns minutos."

"Você sabe que precisa se cuidar, né? Pelo menos água, por favor." Seokmin buscou a garrafa sobre a escrivaninha e abriu o bico para você, sinalizando que ele te daria a água.

Seu coração batia rápido. Como alguém poderia ser tão apaixonante? Como alguém poderia se importar tanto mesmo não tendo um título oficial entre vocês dois?

"Meu braço vai doer, bebe logo." Seokmin disse rindo, te oferecendo a água novamente.

"Namora comigo." Disse sem pensar, mas estava tão certa daquilo.

Seokmin travou em meio a risada, deixando a garrafa de água cair e molhar seu colo, aí sim o fazendo voltar para si.

"M-Meu Deus eu, me desculpa...eu não, calma...aí meu senhor, eu..." Seokmin dizia nervoso, procurando um pano próximo para secar seu colo. "Eu acho que...meu Deus, calma, é...nossa senhora, namoro..." Um sorriso gigante apareceu nos lábios dele, logo sendo trocado por um semblante preocupado. "Certo, eu preciso te secar e..."

"Seokmin, fica calmo." Segurou a mão dele, o vendo se acalmar e se sentar na beirada de sua cama, te fazendo andar até o lugar macio. "Te assustei?"

"Não, longe disso, é só que..." Seokmin respirou fundo e sorriu novamente. "Eu tô querendo fazer esse pedido desde que nós nos conhecemos e cara, parece que eu tô sonhando agora." Olhou para você e se levantou da cama, se curvando o suficiente para igualar o olhar com o seu. "Eu cuido de você desde o primeiro dia que nos conhecemos, tomei isso como prioridade mesmo não tendo um título oficial, porque eu senti que era o certo de se fazer. Você precisa ser amada e cuidada por alguém que se importa, e de verdade, eu quero muito ser esse alguém para você." Um carinho gostoso foi dado em seu rosto. "Você me pediu pra ser seu namorado e eu aceito, mas eu também quero te pedir. Posso?" Viu você concordar e com os olhos marejados, sorriu. "Princesa, quer namorar comigo?"

Você sorriu, concordando e abraçando seu, agora, namorado. Seokmin girou com você nos braços e depois te colocou de volta ao chão. Sustentaram momentaneamente o olhar um no outro e se aproximaram, finalmente beijando seus lábios como há tempos queria fazer. As mãos dele foram em direção a sua cintura, onde segurou com força o local, não querendo que você escapasse dali tão facilmente. Porém, como nem tudo eram flores, seu celular começou a tocar, fazendo você e Seokmin se afastarem, mesmo que com muita relutância.

"Deixa eu só ver quem é." Disse afastando alguns fios do olho de Seokmin e finalmente desgrudando dele, indo em direção a mesa e lendo o nome de quem estava te ligando. "Gerente Park Marketing".

Virou o celular para Seokmin, o olhando de forma triste e o viu suspirar, permitindo que você atendesse.

"Oi Sr. Park, tudo bem? Uhum, eu já estava finalizando o arquivo para o envio. Isso, perdão pela demora, algum estagiário trocou a senha dos programas, acabou dificultando tudo e..." Travou momentaneamente com Seokmin te abraçando por trás, deixando um beijinho em seu ombro. Sorriu com o ato e acariciou o braço que rodeava sua cintura. "Mas eu irei entregar assim que possível, certo? Nada, eu que agradeço. Até mais." Desligou a ligação e se permitiu derreter no calor de seu namorado. "Por mais que eu queira muito ficar aqui, eu preciso entregar esse arquivo e mandar ainda hoje."

"Tudo bem, mas lembra de tomar água, levantar algumas vezes pra esticar o corpo e por favor, não se cobra demais, entendeu?" Concordou e sentiu ele te soltar, fazendo você sentir imediatamente falta do calor gostosinho. "Quando você terminar, me diga se estiver muito cansada, quero jantar com você e tenho que saber se vai ser em casa ou no restaurante."

"Uhum, pode deixar." Deixou um último selar sobre os lábios dele e se sentou novamente. "Ah, e Seokmin..." O chamou, antes mesmo de ele sair do quarto. "Obrigada."

"Eu que deveria dizer isso." Ele se encostou no batente da porta e sorriu mais uma vez. Amava isso nele. "Obrigado por me deixar cuidar de você."

[sunshyni]

Sunsun escreve uma com o sungchan😦

📍hot girls love sungchan

sinopse — escrever sobre Sungchan já era bom, mas era ainda melhor quando as perguntas terminavam e apenas os beijos dele preenchiam o silêncio.

w.c — 0.7k

🌻notinha da Sun — O Sungchan no NCT era fofo, mas no RIIZE... meu Deus, que homem gostoso! Afe! Enfim, é isso. Anon, espero que você goste!!

— Eu preciso de algumas respostas — você começou, olhando para o seu caderninho de questões e se lembrando das palavras da sua superior sobre a matéria que precisava escrever e entregar em poucos dias.

Mas Sungchan não facilitava. Para falar a verdade, vocês nem deveriam estar sozinhos naquele camarim. Você tinha certeza disso. Mas Sungchan era a estrela, e ele conseguia tudo o que queria—até mesmo você.

Você tentou manter a postura profissional. Ele já tinha respondido tudo o que precisava para o seu material, mas essa não era a verdadeira razão pela qual você ainda estava ali. No meio do caos que era a vida dele, você queria mais um momento. Não queria se apegar, mas ficava inconsequente, sua mente constantemente sendo invadida por imagens dele, por pensamentos que não conseguia afastar.

— Você não precisa de mais nada. Tá só arrumando uma desculpa — ele afirmou, te encarando de onde estava sentado, as pernas afastadas, a postura casual, mas absurdamente masculina e atraente.

Ele tinha deslizado um pouco na cadeira, ainda vestido com a roupa da apresentação. Vestígios de suor brilhavam em sua pele, e, honestamente? Ele era tão gostoso que fazia você se perguntar se realmente pertencia a esse mundo.

— Vem aqui — Sungchan sussurrou, e você ouviu perfeitamente. Seus pés se moveram por conta própria, aproximando-se devagar. Seu coração deu um salto quando ele tocou sua coxa, guiando você para o colo dele, de frente para ele.

Você sorriu, envergonhada, escondendo o rosto no pescoço dele para evitar que ele visse suas bochechas queimando.

— Senti sua falta — a voz dele veio baixa, grave, perto demais.

Ele não deixou você se esconder. Com as palmas das mãos, segurou seu rosto, os olhos escuros vasculhando os seus. Seu coração disparou só com o olhar intenso que ele lançou. Sungchan desceu o olhar para sua boca e se inclinou devagar… mas não te beijou.

— Diz que sentiu minha falta e eu te beijo.

Você desviou o olhar, sorrindo. Ele era tão convencido. Tinha uma legião de fãs, era bonito pra caralho e sabia disso.

Sungchan não deixou que você virasse o rosto. Ele adorava te observar de perfil quando ninguém percebia, mas, dessa vez, segurou seu queixo e inclinou sua cabeça um pouco para baixo, forçando você a encará-lo.

— Óbvio que eu senti sua falta, idiota. Toda hora.

Você afastou os cabelos para trás, nervosa. Nos últimos dias, tinha sonhado com esse momento como uma adolescente inexperiente, e agora estava acontecendo.

Sungchan te beijou devagar. As mãos dele desceram para seu jeans apertado, puxando você um pouco mais para perto, pressionando seus corpos de um jeito tão gostoso que aquilo não podia ser o fim.

Queria que ele te segurasse assim todos os dias, a qualquer hora. Queria que ele fosse seu. Porque, aparentemente, você já era dele.

Ele afastou os lábios devagar, deixando um beijo suave nos seus antes de você apoiar a cabeça no ombro dele. No reflexo do espelho do camarim, viu sua própria pele cintilando, os lábios inchados, não pelo batom que tinha aplicado minutos antes, mas pelo toque dos lábios dele. Você estava linda.

Sungchan também achava.

— Você tá me deixando com vergonha — você murmurou.

Ele procurou seu rosto novamente, beijou a pontinha do seu nariz e esfregou o dele contra sua pele perfumada. As mãos subiram das suas coxas para sua blusa, deslizando por baixo do tecido até alcançar a renda do seu sutiã. Sungchan olhou para seus seios sem o menor acanhamento, os olhos escuros brilhando com desejo.

— Desculpa, é que você é deliciosa — ele admitiu, um sorriso malicioso brincando nos lábios.

Os dedos dele deslizaram pelas suas costas por baixo da blusa, te fazendo arquear o corpo instintivamente. Seus seios ficaram ainda mais próximos do rosto dele, e Sungchan sorriu. Um sorriso perigoso.

— Eu quero te beijar... Mas não só sua boca. Você sabe o que eu tô dizendo, não é?

Você assentiu, mordendo o lábio diante do olhar suplicante dele.

Era fofo, mas você sabia que queria o mesmo.

E vocês não podiam.

— Eu sei…

— Você vai me matar, cê sabe, né? — ele murmurou.

Você apenas balançou a cabeça.

Então ele beijou seu pescoço, e ao constatar de novo o quanto te queria, mordeu o próprio lábio.

— Eu sei.

©sunshyni. Todos os raios de sol reservados.

[asimpathetic]

— o infalível manual de como não se apaixonar pelo seu melhor amigo. .ᐟ

par romântico. melhor amigo!jeno

gênero. friends to lovers

sinopse.

você sempre teve uma regra absoluta: nunca, jamais, em hipótese alguma, nutrir algo mais do que sentimentos platônicos pelo seu melhor amigo, lee jeno.

e desesperada para evitar um clichê de comédia romântica digna de pena, decidiu criar o infalível manual de como não se apaixonar pelo seu melhor amigo, cheio de regras, avisos, e passo-a-passos sobre como bloquear as borboletas no estômago que ele conseguia sempre causar.

mas, é óbvio, quanto mais você tentava seguir suas próprias regrinhas, mais difícil se tornava disfarçar o que sentia, quer dizer, ele era irresistível – e parecia cada vez mais empenhado em inconscientemente quebrar todas as suas tão preciosas regras.

w.c. 1.6k (teaser)

avisos. (somente do teaser por enquanto) xingamentos, jaemin e haechan sendo jaemin e haechan, jeno sendo jeno 🙁

notes. oiiiiii, olha qm tá de volta hein, sim eu tô com um bloqueio horrível ainda, mas essa fic aqui tá na minha cabeça tem um tempo, vai demorar bastante pra sair mas oq vale eh a intenção né 😋 e isso aqui é PURO clichê, do começo ao fim, adoro essa pegada então talvez eu faça muito mais disso

data de postagem. ainda não decidido

você nunca teve dúvida: melhor amigo é melhor amigo, e ponto final. 

e por mais que as borboletas no seu estômago fizessem uma festa toda vez que jeno sorria, você se manteve firme na sua regra de ouro: jamais se apaixonar por ele.

com isso em mente, o manual infalível de como não se apaixonar pelo seu melhor amigo foi criado, um caderninho cheio de regrinhas e anotações sobre como agir, ou o que evitar para não cair nos encantos de jeno, e deus, como era difícil. parecia que quanto mais imersa em seguir as próprias regras, mais perdida em seus próprios sentimentos você ficava, tinha a impressão que ele estava testando seus limites constantemente, aquele homem era um perigo.

você e ele eram amigos desde sempre, e bota sempre nisso, suas mães eram melhores amigas, o que fez com que vocês fossem criados juntos praticamente, quase compartilhando fraldas, quão mais clichê isso poderia ser? 

e jeno? cara, ele era quase seu mundo, você viveu a vida inteira colada nele, e foi um pesadelo perceber que estava se apaixonando por ele, quão perigoso isso poderia ser te deixou em pânico, você não queria perder a amizade dele, não conseguia se imaginar sem ele, então se esforçou para colocar na mente que ele era seu melhor amigo, e você era a melhor amiga dele, nada mais.

se concentrou em seguir esse pensamento, lutando todos os dias para convencer seu pobre coração a seguir o vendo somente como um amigo, só que isso estava se tornando um desafio maior a cada dia que passava, poxa, jeno era jeno, e parecia que isso desmoronava suas barreiras, bastava um sorrisinho bobo dele e você estava praticamente jogada no chão implorando para ele te amar, bem, isso na sua cabeça pelo menos, preferia morrer do que mostrar lado tão vergonhoso para ele.

e ele, com o sorriso fácil, o jeitinho despreocupado, e caralho, os olhinhos dele. aqueles olhinhos fofos que ficavam quase fechados quando ele ria, as marquinhas fofas nos cantinhos, aqueles malditos olhos tinham o poder de fazer qualquer pensamento racional que passasse por sua cabeça desaparecer em segundos. como poderia resistir a alguém assim? 

você definitivamente não conseguia, e por isso criou o manual, uma tentativa desesperada de evitar que esse sentimento incontrolável e idiota tomasse conta de você e estragasse tudo.

se via constantemente levando o olhar até ele, seja inconscientemente ou não, olhá-lo simplesmente era agradável, como se fosse a coisa certa a se fazer, como se seus olhos fossem feitos para o prazer de ter jeno em seu campo de visão e nada mais.

e nesse momento, era exatamente nisso que você pensava, que diabos de feitiço ele te jogou para você se sentir tão encantada por ele? até pouco tempo atrás jeno era simplesmente o garoto catarrento que você viu crescer, e agora? você não conseguia nem olhá-lo sem sua cabecinha se encher de pensamentos que definitivamente não queria ter sobre seu melhor amigo.

se perguntava por que ele era tão bonito, por que era tão cheiroso, e por que inferno ele parecia beijar bem? você nunca sequer o beijou para saber.

mas você se lembra muito bem de ouvir pelo campus a incrível capacidade de lee jeno de deixar os joelhos de uma mulher fracos com apenas alguns beijinhos apaixonados.

queria muito saber se isso era verdade, tinha o desejo de saber como seria a sensação dos lábios do rapaz nos seus, esse pensamento tem te atormentado a semanas, te dava uma vontade absurda de gritar de frustração por se sentir dessa forma, o que caralhos tinha de errado com você? ele é seu melhor amigo, você não deveria pensar assim dele.

uma sensação ruim subiu até seu peito, se sentia tão culpada por nutrir tais sentimentos por ele, tudo que jeno fez foi ser um amigo incrível, te dar um pouquinho de atenção a mais, e boom, lá estava você, caída igual patinho na dele, quase beijando o chão que ele pisava, suspeitava ter jogado pedras na cruz na vida passada para ter que passar por esse castigo. 

sacudiu a cabeça tentando espantar os devaneios, e se virou na cama afundando o rosto no travesseiro enquanto soltava um suspiro cansado, péssima escolha, você cometeu o erro de respirar fundo com o nariz enterrado na almofada, tinha esquecido que horas atrás jeno tinha ficado bons minutos deitado sobre ele, com aquele maldito pescoço bonito dele sendo esfregado por todo seu travesseiro, deixando o cheirinho do perfume dele no tecido, não era possivel que ele não fazia aquilo de propósito!

você grunhiu irritada, fechando os olhos com força e amaldiçoando jeno e seu cheiro que te fazia ter vontade de grudar o rosto no travesseiro e morrer ali mesmo.

a primeira regra era até simples, e era lembrada tantas vezes que chegava a ser vergonhoso.

regra #1: nunca, jamais, em hipótese alguma, se perca no olhar ou sorriso dele.

fácil né? o caralho que era, o sorriso e olhinhos adoráveis eram uma das armas mais poderosas que lee jeno possuía contra você.

as tardes no campus eram sempre quentes e confortáveis, principalmente dentro de uma biblioteca quase vazia com inúmeras prateleiras de livros distribuídas por cada canto.

a luz do sol adentrava pela janela batendo em uma mesa no canto mais isolado da biblioteca, era uma grande sorte não ter ninguém na biblioteca fora você e alguns poucos alunos sentados em cantos afastados, era bom ter um tempo sozinha num lugar silencioso depois de dias com a mente estando uma bagunça completa por culpa de um certo garoto.

coçou um dos olhos tentando se manter acordada, se perdendo nas linhas e palavras do livro em suas mãos, vendo as letras embaralhadas e quase fugindo das folhas, mas um barulho de livros caindo foi o que te acordou da sonolência. levantou a cabeça assustada em direção ao som, vendo um garoto de joelhos pegando alguns livros que havia derrubado, ficou até com pena do garoto sabendo que ele receberia uma bronca e tanto da velha bibliotecária, que não perdia uma única chance de brigar com os alunos por fazer qualquer coisinha fora das regras. 

decidindo que não faria sentido ficar ali estando morrendo de sono, você guardou suas coisas em sua mochila, a colocando em um dos ombros e seguiu para fora do local, onde deu uma olhada no campus pensando onde iria agora, já que não tinha nenhuma aula pela próxima uma hora e meia, e checando seu celular para ver o aplicativo de mensagens, você se deparou com o chat de seu grupo de amigos com mensagens não lidas demais pra ser normal, como eles falam, hein.

a conversa do grupo falava sobre uma aula que a maioria tinha em comum naquele horário, e  pensando em ir dar um oi para eles, desligou o celular novamente e seguiu em direção ao bloco onde a sala ficava.

era até que uma caminhada curta, atravessou o pequeno gramado, chutando algumas pedrinhas e se arrependendo imediatamente quando percebeu que o tênis que era originalmente branco estava com uma marca de terra bem feia na lateral. droga de gramado, droga de faculdade.

“pelo amor de deus, procura outro pra atormentar” você escutou a voz de jaemin no exato momento que passou pela porta, chegando até a soltar um sorrisinho sabendo que seus amigos estavam em mais uma briguinha sem motivo. 

“ah, vai, você sabe que eu tô certo.” haechan respondeu, o sorrisinho traquinas dele deixando óbvio que ele estava falando alguma bobeira só pra irritar o amigo, como sempre.

antes que jaemin pudesse dar uma resposta, que provavelmente seria um xingamento contra o amigo, você chegou próximo da dupla, deixando a mochila em uma mesa vazia e sorrindo para cumprimentar os dois.

“oi, gente, o que rolou, hein?” e na mesma hora, haechan virou pro seu lado divagando sobre como jaemin era cruel e como ele era horrível por não acreditar nele.

já o outro rapaz? se limitou a um suspiro e um revirar de olhos, passando a ignorar donghyuck pelos próximos minutos até mais alguém se juntar ao pequeno grupo, alguém esse que tinha que ser jeno, o maldito chegou todo sorrisinho e olhinhos bonitos, cumprimentando todos com um ar tão radiante que você jurava que podia te cegar.

ele sentou do seu lado te dando um pequeno toquezinho de brincadeira e perguntou o que tava acontecendo, bom, péssima pergunta, parece que foi um gatilho para a dupla voltar a discutir, com um jaemin parecendo que poderia pular a qualquer momento na garganta de donghyuck.

jeno fez um barulhinho, um som surpreso misturado com um risinho, e virou o rosto pra você, te olhando com os olhinhos parecendo duas jabuticabas, você queria arrancar elas fora.

merda de olhar fofo.

e não sendo suficiente, ele te deu aquela porcaria de sorrisinho com olhinhos em meia lua, que merda, seu coração faltou pular pra fora do peito, por que ele tinha que ser tão bonito? e por que caralhos ele tava sorrindo agora? ah claro, deve ser um daqueles momentos que amigos se olham e sorriem de forma estranha só pro clima não ficar mais estranho ainda, isso nunca funcionava, mas o que valia era a intenção.

sorriu de volta, ignorando quão rápido seu coração estava batendo, e se ajeitou na cadeira voltando o olhar pra dupla que agora estava quieta por causa do professor entrando na sala.

porra de sorriso bonito.

porcaria de lee jeno e seu maldito charme de galã de novela, seu dia não poderia piorar.