DIARY OF A TEENAGE WALK

Estela is a studious adolescent preparing for university admission, and she aspires to be a singer in her leisure time. As she grows into adulthood, she fears that time will fade away her memories, so to avoid this fate, she decides to record her experiences in a diary. The diary would be a linkage to those better years, because "happily ever after" is what comes before, not afterwards. Youth, time to explore the various dimensions of life; time to choose the career of an entire existence, time to cultivate inseparable friends, time to find breathtaking and endless loves. Oh, love! In this field, Estela thinks that she is well settled, dating a friend from childhood, but a path opens itself when one walks, and when she walks, other landscapes reveal themselves.

Available in the option: 1) eBook in Portuguese. 

Conception

Who has never fallen in love with a teacher? Hours and hours being forced to observe masters during their lecture, sooner or later students' minds start to see other content. After collecting stories from several known and unknown people, the work began to materialize itself as a mosaic. The passage in the Excerpt section below, for example, entitled Déjà Vu, although belonging to the last chapter of the book, was one of the first to be written. The Trot at the beginning was inspired by a real experience of an author's  friend  in the role of the teacher being approached in a car, not the freshman asking for money at the traffic light, as captured in the text. The singing lessons were based on Cristie's personal experience as an amateur musician. After months of writing standalone passages, it was time to create the story master line, which was a real challenge and a lesson learned for the next books: never ever repeat this process again. The time it took to create a unit from the finalized parts and adjust everything to the point of view of the main character who is also the narrator of the story was equivalent to restarting the book from scratch.

Illustrations

The book is composed of eight chapters, each one with a cover in the printed version. The published Kindle version does not contain the illustrations. By using the reflowable option, which fits any device, the images caused noise and impaired reading fluency, so they were removed. The drawings were made in nankin with only a few elements filled with watercolor. The drawings were cut out and glued on colored paper, along with other material in some cases, such as the golden thread glued on the red card below that the character made for her boyfriend.

Excerpt

   [...]

  O piano entoava a marcha nupcial. A igreja estava repleta de parentes e amigos. Todos de pé, admirando o meu vestido branco e o buquê exuberante de orquídeas que eu carregava. Orquídeas que havia recebido todos os dias durante aquele curto namoro.

   Cada passo era uma vitória. A concentração persistente para não tropeçar e para manter o ritmo moderado da caminhada com meu pai, que me conduzia.

   No altar um homem de tirar o fôlego. O terno escuro realçava a sua pele clara. A face perfeita de um modelo, queixo quadrado, nariz bem torneado, lábios finos. Os olhos azuis marejados de ternura ao fitar meu rosto. Olhar penetrante como se enxergasse o fundo da minha alma, aquela que realmente sou. Com ele, eu podia ser eu mesma. Ele me amava de qualquer forma e de todas as formas.

 Aquele ser angelical agora sorria, com a minha aproximação. A cumplicidade do sentimento verdadeiro. “Não chore, não chore, não chore”, eu repetia para mim mesma.

  Talvez pelo nervosismo de desfilar para uma multidão, o fato era que eu estranhamente não me recordava da nossa história. Eu me esforcei para lembrar a primeira vez que tomei ciência da sua existência. Algo provavelmente inesquecível. Nada. Quando nos conhecemos? Quando me apaixonei? Mas afinal, qual a relevância desses detalhes se eu me sentia feliz e podia ver que ele emanava felicidade?

   Havia fragmentos tímidos da memória, como um sonho distante. Estavam embaralhados, de maneira que eu não conseguia diferenciar qual história pertencia a qual relacionamento. Aquele corpo glorioso poderia pertencer a qualquer outro homem que eu havia amado. O coração apertou com a sensação de que os relacionamentos se repetem com pessoas e em momentos diferentes, como um dèjá vu. Mas eu não havia me casado antes, ou havia?

   De repente a invasão de um pensamento: “Se não for com você, não será com ninguém”. Aquela frase dita repetidas vezes no passado para um ex-namorado ficou latejando na minha mente, como uma maldição. Como eu podia desperdiçar um dos momentos mais plenos da minha vida com uma lembrança dessas?

   Meu pai me entregou ao noivo que tomou a minha mão fria e trêmula, beijando-a. Levantou as pupilas calorosas em sua acolhida.

   – Tudo isso é para mim? – perguntou ao me medir. Fique calma, sou eu que estou aqui.

   Perfeito demais. Demais para ser real.

   [...]

   [...]

   The piano intoned the nuptial march. The church was full of relatives and friends. All standing, admiring my white dress and the lush bouquet of orchids I carried. Orchids that I had received every day during that short courtship.

   Each step was a victory. The persistent concentration to not stumble and to keep up the moderate pacing of the walk with my father, who led me.

   At the altar a breathtaking man. The dark suit highlighted his pale skin. The perfect face of a model, square chin, shapely nose, thin lips. His watery blue eyes were full of tenderness as he stared at my face. A piercing look as if he could see the bottom of my soul, the person that I really am. With him, I could be myself. He loved me anyway and in every way.

   That angelical being now smiled, with my approach. The complicity of the true feeling. "Do not cry, do not cry, do not cry," I kept saying to myself.

   Perhaps because of the nervousness of parading for a crowd, the fact was that strangely I did not remember our history. I struggled to remember the first time I became aware of his existence. Something probably unforgettable. Nothing. When did we meet? When did I fall in love? But after all, what was the relevance of these details if I felt happy and could see that he emanated happiness?

   There were timid fragments of memory, like a distant dream. They were scrambled, so I could not tell which story belonged to which relationship. That glorious body could belong to any other man I had ever loved. The heart squeezed with the feeling that relationships are repeated with different people and at different times, like dèjá vu. But I had not had married before, or had I?

   Suddenly the invasion of a thought: "If it is not with you, it will be with no one." That phrase said over and over again in the past for an ex-boyfriend throbbed in my mind like a curse. How could I waste one of the fullest moments of my life with such a memory?

   My father handed me to the fiancé who took my cold and trembling hand, kissing it. He raised his warm pupils to his welcome.   "Is this all for me?," he asked as he measured me. "Stay calm, it's me here."

   Too perfect. Too much to be real.

   [...]