Sunday, 6 December 2015

My Life in St Kilda

For the same reasons exposed on the previous blog post about this topic, we decided to write about one of our Australian experiences in terms of living, from when we lived, or from when we were the closest we have ever been to the real world object that refers to the concept of living.

We were on the verge of moving to Charnwood Road when we met this possible prince at an academic encounter where people were dealing with quality. He looked gorgeous and it was as if he were there just to meet us.

We directed ourselves to the food table and he was coming towards us, as if really waiting for us and there exclusively to talk with us, as incredible as it may seem.

We chatted a bit and we ended up talking about how much in trouble we were to move from one place to another.

Coincidentally, we would meet him by the beach, in St Kilda, as we were exercising. We were actually running when our direction vectors crossed.

He ended up helping us with putting together our just-acquired desk. It was a multitude of pieces we had never imagined we would have to deal with.

We had bought it from a place called Fantastic Furniture, if we remember well, but, in the place, the desk was completely assembled, so that we definitely thought that was the way it would be delivered. Instead, it was the so famous flat pack. Oh, Jesus!

He looked like a God’s envoy: He was putting those pieces together with so much skill that is not a joke.


We now had our white car sitting at the garage together with our brand new bike.

We got a masseur from some services list and this English guy then came to give us a massage.

All was a shock, but he was not repulsive.

He demanded certain things and ended up giving us  a bit more than the expected.

We did call him once more when we were staying at St Kilda East with Brendon and Trish.

We now were frequently seen doing some bike riding or running by the beach or in the parks around.

We would also go to Fitzroy Street to try to find some amusement.

Inside of the apartment, we had our little desk with our book, the one Sever gave us, and we were literally devouring that book for ages now because we really wanted to be able to get those papers, which Eva Stenzdur told us we could get from it.

Mum had advised  us to go away in order to try to find the solution from within.

We then bought a tent, grabbed the car, and put the bike in all on our own, believe it or not. It was like a mum-said sort of thing, so that we did that automatically. She is the greatest psychologist we have ever met, so that she should know better.

We got out of Melbourne and went God knows where, since we don’t even recall the name of the place. We stopped by a camping site a bit freaking out, like what could happen to us there on our own, since we had never done that in life, and managed to actually sleep in the tent for one night on our own. Before that, we got the bike out and went for a ride in the new place, and that was really nice. The adventure of riding a bike in the unknown and by ourselves, and we had never done any of that, was really worth the trip. It gave us a sensation of freedom never experienced before.

We don’t really know what mum was thinking of, but that was probably not the idea involved, since it really did not work.

We continued attending VUT and that is when Shane invited us to have a meal with him on a particular day, perhaps Friday.

We did think that dating someone inside of the university would be way more convenient, since they would understand our issues better than anyone else, and we had already taken notice of Shane because he got a prize in research with his Fuzzy Logic. We did pay special attention to that because we had learned Fuzzy Logic from Priest and that seemed to be one of his passions, since he asked us to talk about it during our talk at Newcastle, where we intended to present is our solution to The Sorites, which had nothing to do with Fuzzy Logic.

Shane was not repulsive, was young, and definitely looked and sounded single.

We were attending VUT from 9 AM to 5 PM or something like that, then staying at the new apartment to enjoy the new start, since that was a real beginning in the First World, and a situation that would be perhaps compatible with what we had in Brazil before leaving or the expected for those who are starting life in another Country: Now the apartment was a studio, was not ours, but we still had an equivalent white zero car in the garage, the novelty of the bike that we could not have where we were living in Rio, for it would be too dangerous, and the excitement of being the owner of our lives again and in full. We had just left a horrible relationship, which was bringing extraordinary loss to us for long, and we were now owners of our personal space again.

Gropius apparently said that human beings need minimum space and a minimum set of commodities as well: He actually defined what was minimum and, if we recall well, he included at least one entrance for the sun in that. We think of the minimum personal space as something like that. Let’s call it MPS.

At that stage, we were still involved with theater,  but from a passive perspective, like once in a while we would get invitations from The Rainers to attend one of their plays.

We were also not actively looking for anything in acting because we were way too involved with our scientific matters and way too excited to do anything else.

We joined a walking group for having found nothing else that were cheap to join.

We then did some walks with them but did not enjoy.

Once in a while we would attend City Baths and play some squash or swim.

On the contacts list, some people like Grace appeared. We actually also gave her a call when we got worried about the events there. She did not have any advice to give to us, unfortunately. She just asked if we owed something to justice or whatever.

Grace worked in a jobs agency and was from Portugal, if we recall well.

We also taught privately whenever VUT had students for us and we were usually full of them, thanks God.

The studio could perhaps be told to be inside of a security building, since we had intercom, but we definitely did not have security guards in the place. We actually got our brand new bike stolen by Trevor's friends there. We think we are sure that it was him somehow, so that whoever was behind him took our bike.

The studio had carpet on it, our fantastic desk, and a futon over an iron structure, which formed a modern sort of sofa.

We were able to use our American cordless phone there, and that was really good.

All that we said inside of the little studio could be heard from the other apartment, next door, apparently.

The street was absolutely wonderful: Superbly arborized, really beautiful and attractive. The aspect was finest, despite it being located in St Kilda. That was like a very exclusive area with access to all in St Kilda. We could ride to the city on bike-only tracks and would be at RMIT in no time, so that it was a really great place to be after we started attending RMIT. It was practically a straight line from where we were to RMIT.

We did our shopping by car and had no home deliveries.

We became frequent customers for a Greek business that sold coffee and sweets and an Italian restaurant, the best we have been in Australia so far.

We sometimes attended St Kilda Baths and swam inside of the pools made of sea water.

So, this would be in 2001, beginning of what we call our martyrdom.




Sunday, 29 November 2015

My Life in Brazil before I Came

I am thinking of finding a more secure place for a while and I just noticed that as soon as I wrote parquetry for reasons of describing an episode I went through when I was about five years old with my father, all the properties appearing on where I am, those for rental, seem to have parquetry. I then decided to describe the way in which I used to live in Brazil before I came to see if I finally get an apartment that could at least match my standards before coming for a price I can pay. 

My existence became gambling since that horrific end of 2001: That seem to have sealed it all. If I can guess what the others are thinking and what they will do based on what I do, then I will choose the right thing for me. Since I am realistically a disaster at gambling and I had no idea regarding the fact that my existence could become what the others think or want, as it is all these 14 + demoniac years, nothing works as it should or very little does, and that includes no post for sure for extraordinary 10 years (at most 5% of the postal items directed to me will ever reach me, especially in what has to do with my PO Box in Melbourne).

I used to live in a two-bedroom, fully carpeted, apartment (apart from the two bathrooms and kitchen, which were all made with tiles on the walls and nice flooring of the type stone on the bottom). It was also air-conditioned, latest model, which, despite being modern, left a big sweating box outside. Inside it was all elegant, however: Just a tiny rectangular-sort of piece. I had a microwave, which I was always using, and an adult-sized fridge with a very decent freezer. My living room had modern TV and video-machine. I had an ensuite and a normal bedroom with bathroom in front of it. Two BIRs with mirror on the door, about five doors, weak wood. I also had a large desk, very comfortable, with a desktop on it and a printer. 

I used to do gym close to the security building where I lived because there was nothing else around. That was a suburb, about 30 minutes away from the city and about one hour from the military club. I also did some acting together with a local group, some private tuition, sometimes at my place, very rarely. The building had intercom and a security door which was very far from the doormen, who used to be there 24/7. The person had to ring for me to authorize their entrance and the doorman would still check them in. 

There was a bar, where I frequently went for nibbles, such as sandwiches and drinks, and a playground plus ample garage. 

Our lobby had mirrors and two lifts. 

My white Gol, a zero car, was at the garage close to the time I moved to Australia. 

The apartment was just for myself and my boyfriend, if I ever had any.

I once shared it with an uncle of mine who I used to care a lot about and I thought that he was a good friend of mine: Murillo Francisco de Assis Puget. He created financial problems for me in the period, along with others. He is one of the so few people in Brazil that I know have denounced the atrocities I endure to the authorities, despite being somehow active part in them. He denounced all to the Catete Police Station, where I put one of my denouncements, this time involving those who lived there, including him. I did mention him as a reference name and I was sure he would tell the truth. He so did. The civil police there alleges it is all a federal issue, apparently, and that is why justice and restoration of rights have never happened. The most they did was sending one of their male cops to accompany me here for a while. That was by the time I was at the Maze in Sydney. The police station chief was a woman and I spoke to her on the telephone once. She was also black and carioca.

I was supposed to share it with my father instead, but my father died in a car accident in 1991, so that I ended up there on my own or sharing with my boyfriend, whoever I was with, or sharing with my uncle, what lasted for a few months. 

I used to work to the other side of the train tracks, so that I would go by car and park at Senai/Cetiqt every day. That was the safest and the only real safe way to do things. I would then get my air-conditioned, perhaps 2.0 or a bit less, car, cross the tunnel and go to the school, where I worked every day from 7 AM to 5 PM if I recall well.

Senai was the best academic environment I have ever been to in Brazil because of Miran Steves, I reckon. His ideas were usually exemplary. Every Christmas, each one of us would get a Christmas basket from Senai, for instance, and that basket did contain quality products that we were all very happy to get. It was a family basket, so that it lasted for a really long time in my hands. We had a huge ball cheese, good cheese, strawberry jam, and lots of other nice items in it. It was really nice and big enough. 

We also had a refectory inside of the premises and we usually would have lunch there, all of us. The food was very reasonable and pleased us all. 

By the end of the year, we would have an end-of-year party all together.

The place had swimming pool, but I myself would not go there ever.

We still had a snack bar, manicure and lots of other things inside, so that it was full of life and community feeling.

It is a shame that those people decided to badly violate my rights as well. Anna Filipecki and Edimando Cordeiro are apparently the worst ones. They seem to be interfering with my Australian affairs, very criminally, since at most end of 2001. None of them ever spoke to me before doing that. 

I spoke to Anna Fillipecki when I was in Brazil in 2003/4 and she denied having anything to do with anything that happened in Australia, but she mentioned that she would like to give her husband to me or something to that extent. She told me he was a physicist, like her ex-husband. She had already committed several crimes against me at Senai/Cetiqt, Anna Fillipecki. Novelty was Edimando Cordeiro, whose conduct that far I saw as at most unethical, but not really criminal. He married a female student from Senai and started dating her whilst teaching her. I am not sure about how old she was, so that there is a chance his conduct was already criminal back then. 

Some of his ex-students, black females, seem to have defamed me here. At least once I think I met one of them face-to-face, which was when I visited a courses provider. I was after a job. She bullied me as I passed and I then identified her as a Senai student, but not my own. 

I left Senai in shock with all that I had gone through there in the end, specially the death of the doorman, whose life I did all I thought I could to defend, as I told on another blog post from Blogger. I got really disappointed with Anna, who told me that basically I lost her on that day for bothering about that doorman. She told me that there were oppressed and oppressors and if I chose to defend the oppressed, I basically would end up like them. All that has happened to me in these last 14 years plus is definitely what I would classify as her face, very unfortunately, so that I did indeed end up like the doorman.

I did insist in defending his life and I then got the worst as possible from her from there onward.

As I said on another blog here, this so nice and hardworking man lost his life for a black kid who shot him to death simply because he had removed it from the swimming pool, which belonged to our students, as it was his duty, on a weekend. He did not touch the kid or anything, just made sure they would be out, but when they went out they put some bullets, empty capsules, on his hand, and said that the next ones would be inside of his body. 

I asked to leave the place and we organized things in a way that I would get the most of it, as for financial allowances. 

On top of my private classes, acting, and all that, I still did some translation work and programming whilst I was there. I worked as hard as I could my entire life and, in particular, when I was there, all I could think of is how much I would like to never have been in Rio, so that I worked as much as I could to put money together and pay all the missing installments of the mortgage, as well as all expenses of the place. I paid as much as I could in advance, so that I decreased the time of the mortgage in an extraordinary way, finishing paying it quite a few years before the set date. Nobody ever put a cent there apart from me since my father stopped putting his money in, what happened as soon as he died. Murillo, whilst sharing the place with me, did contribute with something. I take that to be subletting. I think he paid 100 bucks or something like that to me per month. He was really nice and helpful at all times he was with me or around me, and that is why, amongst all my relatives, I had chosen him to favor. Once, I had to punch a hole in the wall to put a hammock in the living room and he was there the entire day, with the drill because he claimed that the hole was not appearing, believe it or  not. I left for work and he was there. I arrived from work and he was there, with the drill on. Oh, I just loved that uncle! He did annoy people quite a lot, and did annoy me sometimes as well, and sometimes very badly, but, compared to all my other relatives, apart from mum, dad, and myself, he was gain, like he was the only one to give me a positive overall result, I reckon. I sometimes made things like party sweets and took to his house when we were not sharing a place. Rogerio got really upset one of those days, on which I took him with me. I had prepared what is there called negrinho (little negro), which is a sweet made of sweetened condensed milk. Rogerio liked it very much, but was completely against me helping uncle Murillo and giving him some for some reason. That was a dish with perhaps twenty to thirty of them. I hate cooking and that was unusual, but I knew he would appreciate that and I then took to him. My grandma used to help him a lot and give him some serious pampering, including things like that, before she died. I really adored my grandma.  

I remember having invited him to share the place with me for getting really upset with Rogerio. He was finally with a little job in teaching, working in a place in the South Zone, and I then demanded that he helped me with something, even if it were a bill. He rejected the idea badly. He had two or four hours of teaching per week. I then decided that Murillo would be there even to prevent me from being with him again, basically. 

In the last six months, I became vice-manager of the building in order to raise the value of the property. I then raised its value from miserable 20 K to 50 K. I actually also managed to sell it to an ex-fellow of mine. He had studied with me somewhere, perhaps UERJ, postgraduate course (we sit for an entrance exam and pay a fee: It is not public). 

I had to drive people and carry old women by the arm, on top of visiting banks and others, in order to clear the apartment because my father had left it with a lot of problems in terms of documentation. 

I had built and organized an enormous wooden shelf, made of real wood, in the last bedroom a relatively long time before I moved, I had painted things with my hands, I had added beautiful vertical curtains to all pieces of the place, and I still had helped adding divisions to the shower cubicle whilst I was there. 

I meticulously split all my collections of bits and pieces of paper and tagged them all, also keeping them inside of folders, so that I had even Primary School exams in the plastic folders that I kept over that long shelf. 

It was all very much my taste, including the metallic pieces of furniture. I had a single metallic bed, green, and a shelves rack, metallic and green, which I really liked because it was the best way to keep insects and other things, such as dust, away. 

I would sometimes call a cleaner to come around, perhaps weekly, once, so that I would not have to do things myself, and I would frequently order pizza from the places around, since I really love pizza and it is so practical! I could get gigantic pizza, made of Catupiry and chicken as well as others for 10 reals, which is like 10 AU$ in 2000, when I came. Sometimes my fridge would have just the gigantic pizza and juice and I would feed from it for two days even, believe it or not.

The delivery people were usually quite nice and well behaved, so that nobody thought that was a bad thing in the building.

I tried to have two dogs when I was becoming braver and could keep away from Rogerio for longer (he was a total pain and only pain after the first two years were over): one, which I called Puppy, and even took pictures of, was a Fox Terrier and was given to me as if she were a male, that being the only reason why I bought it. My ignorance of nature issues is realistically legendary, I must confess. I took her to the vet for vaccination and that is when I found out that it was a she. I still remember the female vet taking a scoff at me, calling me mum, and saying, mum thought you were a he, baby, or something to that extent (SOB!). I used to cover the entire place with newspaper, since I was an avid reader of the news, before departing. Very unfortunately, despite my efforts of even locking Puppy in the kitchen before I got out, she would invariably end up by the bathroom sniffing my hair, hanging on to it, and would then come all happy when I arrived, but, as soon as party was over, I would notice what she had done and the place would be all badly pooped, like invariably. I got tired of Puppy really quickly. I had to clean all every day and she would never stick to the kitchen. Sometimes she would rip the paper off and I would have to de-stain the carpet. I then did get rid of her, passed her onward, unfortunately. The second dog was quiet as heavens. Cute in all senses, but cried during the entire night for me to take him out to pee and poo. By the seventh day, I was with bags in my eyes, both, and I thought that that was the same hell as having a baby: It is just that I never wanted to have one! It would be easier and more logical having one if I kept it, so that I also passed that one onward, very unfortunately. I also thought he could die if I left him on his own, since he would never get out of the box and would always cry to poo and pee. When I got to the pet store, he flew from the box to the hands of the seller and it was just lucky that he got it, basically. I tripped over something at the entrance and, definitely unexpectedly, he ended up there. I got a real shock and thought I was gonna kill the creature. The seller got really mad and was almost calling me assassin. It was all nonsensical. It was brown and I have no idea of the breed, but they told me. 

I was OK in the building, they seemed to be nice people. The woman next door to me was a pain and really prostitute-like, so that I did endure a bit more of real loss and pain when Rogerio and her were both around, very unfortunately. She had a husband and everything, but the figure was legendary in the building. Coincidentally, the husband was manager when I was vice and he also came up with stuff to my side, so that I felt really disgusted about them all in the end of my period there. 

I used to like my bar attendant, and she served me always with a smile and conversation. She took care of the bar with her husband, and I love this sort of thing, of family-like business, since this is what I got from the Italians where I was born (Porto Alegre). I think her name was Valdice. That one I really liked and admired: Just the fact that she had a real family and served us well every day, that she had no bad day, and therefore was something just like me, was a real blessing. Perhaps her husband was called Fernando. I used to do gym and stop by there to eat the hugest sandwich she offered. They all scoffed at me because of that. 

I did not like one of our doormen because he seemed to be very scoundrel-like and frequently skipped what he had to do. He was there because he created a mafia-feeling, told me my neighbor when we were both administering all. I was about to leave the building anyway, so that I did not insist on getting him out. He was also an old man and we have this tradition, of not letting them down by the end of life or close to their retirement time, if nobody fired them that far (in Brazil). 

In general, the building was family-like, I reckon, and my father chose very well. It is a real shame that his trip to Porto Alegre was a one-way sort of deal, quite sincerely.

I only had one party there, a birthday party. That was an idea of my boyfriend and Tarcisio Dantas was one of the people who attended. Unfortunately, the boyfriend and his friends almost destroyed our lift that day by jumping inside of it. I got a wonderful tart from Tarcisio and he said he made it himself. If I remember well, it was in the shape of a heart, and it was the most delicious thing I have ever eaten in my life (also because he said he made himself, of course). It was a gigantic brownie, but the best I had ever tasted. He actually had really nice brownies at home too. Wow! What a wonderful taste. He attended with a woman who he introduced to us as his girlfriend. I am a really reserved person and I really do not like opening my home to others. I think that home really is a personal space. My boyfriend is the one who insisted and I then did that. The event would never repeat because of the incidents with the lift: I really do not tolerate vandalism or things like that. It was nice in the rest of it. 

I still studied at UFRJ at night soon before coming to Australia. In my last months in Rio, I taught at a course called Superior, a course that taught adults in the evening with the intentions of preparing them for the university. The owner of this course was quite nice and generous with me, so that I did regret quite a lot having chosen Anna Fillepecki instead of him to list on my resume, since I believe that is how she ended up attacking me in Australia. This man was really nice, definitely not a sexist, and I unfortunately cannot recall not even his name. I used to go there by bus, I think I had already sold my car, and I do not recall the name of the suburb or his name for some reason.




Wednesday, 18 November 2015

Wine and Food

For those who don't know, there is some art involved in drinking wine whilst ingesting food. 

Lea Maria knew all about it and even had a chart: For instance, fish should be eaten with white wine and red meat with red wine. 

That is actually based on scientific studies of how the palate reacts to the contact with those elements, believe it or not.

A bit of research, for instance, brings some results on matching wine and food.

Match Food with Wine is a good place to look for what wine matches the type of food you will consume: Just click on the option Find a Match and then enter whatever you want to have with wine in the white rectangle.

There are still the details, such as that Port Wine should probably be a dessert wine (On Port), and therefore be consumed after the meal is over, perhaps to declare to our stomach that it is all really over. 




Asylum and First World

From reading Tracking, we think of quite a few things, such as biotechs and people bugged in their heads against their will, but what most comes to us is that we really will have even more struggle here in Australia than we currently have in terms of, for instance, job market. Our situation is already desperation: We kill each other for tutorships, basically. These are positions that are temporary, which will give us an income that equates, or is lower than, that provided by the dole. 12,000?

First of all, the roots of asylum seekers' acceptance are in the fact that they are being kicked out of their original Country, so that they never really intended to leave it, like, if it depended on them, they wouldn't. Well, that means that they actually liked or even loved their original last world countries. 

In this case, it can only be part of the logic involved that any last world Country would make them happy: As happy as they were in their original countries, from which they never intended to move.

Why is it that this onus ends up always on the First World Powers then? 

That will slowly change the First World Powers into last world ones. That sounds stupid. 

If anything, we should try to change the last world ones into first world ones, is it not?