...Jeg aner ikke hvor jeg skal begynde og slutte. Ej ved jeg ikke hvor jeg skal begrænse mig og hvor jeg ikke får sagt alt. Mandag blev dagen hvor
jeg for første og forhåbentlig sidste gang måtte aflægge en rapport hos
Delegacia Especial de Atendimento au Turista (DEAT) – som er den afdeling af
politiet der tager sig af kriminalitet begået mod turister.
Jeg er blevet fortalt at en måde at bevæge sig videre på og bearbejde traumatiske oplevelser, er ved at italesætte dem. Tal oplevelsen fuldstændig død. Tal om det indtil dine egne og dine nærmestes ører bløder. Visualiser og skriv ned. Det følgende er derfor mere for mig selv end for alle andre.
Dette er en af grundene til at jeg vælger ærligt og uglamourøst at nedfælde den oplevelse jeg havde i søndags, hvor jeg blev overfaldet af en gruppe af 20 + mænd/drenge i alderen 10-25 år. Tanken har strejfet mig flere gange at det nemmeste og mindst sårbare ville være at fortrænge og tie. Men hvis du står stille når en bølge kommer, vil den vælte dig om kuld. Hvis du dykker dybt ind i den kommer du op på den anden side.
Fænomenet Arrastão
Solrige weekender med
mulighed for strandtid er en af vores store glæder i Danmark og vi valfarter
til havet og ligger som sild i en tønde i sandet. Det samme gør vi i Rio de
Janeiro (RJ). En varm søndag
eftermiddag for et par uger siden var jeg på stranden af samme årsag med en ven.
Her oplevede jeg for første gang fænomenet ”arrastão”.
Ikke noget jeg havde hørt synderligt om før. Ordet arrestão er opstået med en
reference til teknikken at fiske med enorme fiskenet som trækkes gennem
vand. Arrastão bruges altså af
brasilianerne som betegnelsen for kollektive røverier der udføres af ofte armerede
bander der rykker hurtigt og med en enorm kraft gennem store menneskemængder,
hvor de stjæler alt på deres vej. Overraskelsesmomentet, forvirringen blandt de
mange vis af ofre der forsøger at flygte, samt den ekstremt voldelig adfærd
undervejs gør denne form for røveri ekstremt effektiv, og mange frygter den i
sådan en grad at de holder sig væk fra stranden permanent. Den mest kendte
arrastão skete på Copacabana i ’92, ellers er de også hændt i boligkomplekser
og i trafficjams så vidt jeg ved.
Denne førnævnte søndag
flygtede vi ned af stranden sammen med 100-vis af andre solbadende mennesker.
Efter ca. 600-700m var vi, med galoperende hjerte og adrenalin, endelig uden
for rækkevidde. Siden denne dag besluttede jeg, at jeg vil holde mig langt væk
fra stranden i weekenden, samt at min mor ikke behøvede at få noget at vide.
Overfaldet
I søndags skulle jeg til
en god venindes baby shower en 1 times bustur ud af Rio i et stille kystområde
kaldt Recreio. Når jeg har behov for at transportere mig via bus plejer jeg at
hoppe på ved stoppestedet lige rundt om hjørnet. Inden jeg forlod
lejligheden kl. 14 den eftermiddag – advarede
jeg min roomie om at passe på sig selv, da hun planlagde en stranddag. ”Søndag
er pisse hamrende farligt, lov mig du passer på”. I det samme, jeg når mit bustoppested, holder en anden bus ind, og jeg hører råb, som var det en flok brølende fodbold hooligans eller krigere, der pumper hinanden op til kamp. Jeg ved med det samme at jeg er helt på røven, det gibber i mig for jeg genkender energien, og den kommer inde fra bussen, hvor den brølende flok er få sekunder fra at blive lukket ud i det fri. Instinktivt bevæger jeg mig mod døren. Men allerede da er jeg omgivet af en flok løbende, aggressive hankøn som alle bærer havaianas, slidte, beskidte t-shirts og har en karakteristisk hudfarve, blandingen af støv og solbrændt hudceller fra de mange timer ude. En dreng på max. 12 år kigger mig i øjnene med sine vrede øjne og sender dernæst en knytnæve i retningen af mit ansigt, jeg undviger (og takker mine 7 år med capoeira), men bliver straks ramt i siden af en anden og flere slag følger. Jeg fatter absolut ikke hvad der foregår, men min krop gør, og jeg får både vredet armen rundt på en der vil have mit lorte ur, og slået den 4. mand der med sine beskidte negle har revet mit brystkasse itu for at få fat i en tynd kæde, man kun akkurat kunne skimte i halsåbningen af min t-shirt. Én 5. mand rykker hårdt i min rygsæk og skubber mig derefter fremad ind i bussens side med hovedet først, hvor han derefter flår i rygsækken igen. Der er hænder alle vegne, der forsøger at tvinge mig til noget, men jeg vrider mig rundt, de løsnes, i stedet bliver jeg sparket over benene. På mærkværdigvis formår jeg at slå en så hårdt jeg overhovedet kan i hovedet med den pose bleer jeg traditionstro skulle give til min gravide veninde. Jeg ser mit snit til at forsøge at hive mig selv ind i bussen, da jeg heldigvis er tættere på end før. Jeg er så tæt på, men monstrene, som de nu er blevet til i mit hoved har stadig fat i min rygsæk og haler mig ud af busåbningen. Jeg mindes jeg sparker bagud og den slipper sit tag. Bussens døre lukker om mit ben og jeg er lettet over den fysiske smerte, som jeg bliver påført af et objekt, og ikke et menneske som vil gøre mig ondt. Da jeg endelig får mit ben frit, ringer det for mine øre, og den ringende stilhed brydes ved min egen grådkvalte fremstammen til buschaufføren, ”vær sød at vente, jeg skal ikke med dig, men hjælp mig”. Den vandaliserende flok hamrer på bussens sider og én slikker langt og længe på forruden med sin mørke tunge. Buschaufføren siger med en skyldig og trist stemme ”jeg vil hjælpe dig”. Flokken begav sig truende mod Ipanema strand, højest sandsynligt for at udføre en arrastão.
Hvad så nu?
Da dørene adskilte mig
og dem var jeg i sikkerhed. Men både min rationelle hjerne og min krop ved nu
at jeg aldrig vil være i 100 procent sikkerhed i mens jeg bor her i denne by.
Nok ingen steder i denne verden og man fristes til at lukke sig selv inde.. Kl. 14.15 en søndag eftermiddag er ligeså kritisk som kl. 01 en festlig nat, hvis ikke du kender stederne. Hvilket du ikke gør når du er udvekslingsstudent. Rainha Elizabeth er en farlig gade fordi det er sidste stop på fx en busrute der kommer fra området Jacaré som er et af de mindre rare. Dette er jo min fjerde gang i Rio og jeg er blevet opdraget på bedste vis i at færdes her, hvilket indebærer altid at have en koncentreret opmærksomhed på sine omgivelser og være beredt. Ikke engang med denne viden var det nok til at undgå episoden i søndags. Men samtidig er jeg overbevidst om at det kunne have endt meget slemmere og jeg er taknemmelig. Evig taknemmelig over at jeg er i live. En kær ven udtrykte ” You are a woman of pure light” og måske han har ret. Spirituel eller ej. Energier/vibes/atmosphere kan vi alle mærke. Den knytnæve jeg fik i siden kunne ligeså godt have været forlænget af et knivskaft osv. ” You attract good things in life, there for nothing more happend to you”. Jeg vælger at tro, at intet sker imod os som menneske, det sker for os. For at vi kan udvikles.
Frygt og sårbarhed
Nu, tre dage senere, har den første og største bølge af chok lagt sig, efter adskillelige brusebade og mange timers gråd, både stille tårer og inderlig hulken, alene og foran computerskærmen på skype. Mange nætter har drengens (hvem jeg fik et splitsekunds øjenkontakt med) ansigt vist sig for mit indre øje. Det er forfærdeligt at gå rundt og konstant mærke snerten af frygt, og det er noget af det som frustrerer mig mest ved at være i Rio, og at være her alene. Jeg bar allerede på disse tanker og følelser før hændelsen i søndag, og det er der mange udvekslingsstuderende der gør. Selvfølgelig er disse følelser forstærket nu. Min puls går fra 0-100 hurtigere end et missil, når et menneske jeg ikke kender kommer mig for nær. Mennesker af lignede udseende er endnu værre. Der skal være ingen tvivl om at hvis jeg var blevet truet og bedt om at aflevere min ting, havde jeg givet alt uden at blinke, men situationen var så anderledes fra et normalt røveri. Vold var indgangsvinklen, og min reaktion var naturlig og farlig. Det som er sværest, er at disse mennesker rent faktisk fysisk rørte ved mig, min hud, lavede mærker. Følelsen af at være underlagt fysiske magtdemonstrationer sætter sig ikke kun i huden, men også i musklerne. Min krop er chokeret og reagerer underligt og meget kraftigt på handlinger der sker rundt omkring mig. Hvis jeg er nødsaget til at gå alene, stikker mine nøgler ud mellem mine knoer fra et knytnæve…
Frygten og den begrænsede frihed leder indirekte til følelsen af ensomhed. Aldrig har jeg følt mig så alene som i de sekunder hvor jeg, imens jeg blev slået og sparket, fangede glimt af passagererne i bussen der alle betragtede mig, eller bevidstheden om at manden der også stod ved busstoppestedet stod frosset og betragtede. Jeg var ikke alene, men fuldstændig omgivet af mennesker, men jeg følte mig absolut alene. Jeg er bange her. Jeg er aldrig bange i KBH, jeg har min frihed til at bevæge mig rundt uden frygten i min normale bevidsthed. Dermed ikke sagt at frygt er en ukendt følelse i mig. Men det er helt anderledes at have en snert af frygt hele dagen igennem.
De fleste mennesker her, tilflyttere og brasilianere er bange og er det tilsyneladende hele livet. Mine professorer, mine klassekammerater, politimanden jeg rapporterede til, de er alle bange. Det er et utalt tabu at indrømme at man nærer frygt. Frygt for at komme til skade, blive forulempet eller for sine nærmestes ve og vel. Jeg er fuldkommen sikker på at frygt er noget vi nærer når vi har noget at miste og meget at leve for. Det er en smuk og kraftfuld følelse. Det handler om at finde en måde at leve med den og bruge den som en styrke og drivkraft, dette er jeg meget målrettet igang med.
Nu, tre dage senere, har den første og største bølge af chok lagt sig, efter adskillelige brusebade og mange timers gråd, både stille tårer og inderlig hulken, alene og foran computerskærmen på skype. Mange nætter har drengens (hvem jeg fik et splitsekunds øjenkontakt med) ansigt vist sig for mit indre øje. Det er forfærdeligt at gå rundt og konstant mærke snerten af frygt, og det er noget af det som frustrerer mig mest ved at være i Rio, og at være her alene. Jeg bar allerede på disse tanker og følelser før hændelsen i søndag, og det er der mange udvekslingsstuderende der gør. Selvfølgelig er disse følelser forstærket nu. Min puls går fra 0-100 hurtigere end et missil, når et menneske jeg ikke kender kommer mig for nær. Mennesker af lignede udseende er endnu værre. Der skal være ingen tvivl om at hvis jeg var blevet truet og bedt om at aflevere min ting, havde jeg givet alt uden at blinke, men situationen var så anderledes fra et normalt røveri. Vold var indgangsvinklen, og min reaktion var naturlig og farlig. Det som er sværest, er at disse mennesker rent faktisk fysisk rørte ved mig, min hud, lavede mærker. Følelsen af at være underlagt fysiske magtdemonstrationer sætter sig ikke kun i huden, men også i musklerne. Min krop er chokeret og reagerer underligt og meget kraftigt på handlinger der sker rundt omkring mig. Hvis jeg er nødsaget til at gå alene, stikker mine nøgler ud mellem mine knoer fra et knytnæve…
Frygten og den begrænsede frihed leder indirekte til følelsen af ensomhed. Aldrig har jeg følt mig så alene som i de sekunder hvor jeg, imens jeg blev slået og sparket, fangede glimt af passagererne i bussen der alle betragtede mig, eller bevidstheden om at manden der også stod ved busstoppestedet stod frosset og betragtede. Jeg var ikke alene, men fuldstændig omgivet af mennesker, men jeg følte mig absolut alene. Jeg er bange her. Jeg er aldrig bange i KBH, jeg har min frihed til at bevæge mig rundt uden frygten i min normale bevidsthed. Dermed ikke sagt at frygt er en ukendt følelse i mig. Men det er helt anderledes at have en snert af frygt hele dagen igennem.
De fleste mennesker her, tilflyttere og brasilianere er bange og er det tilsyneladende hele livet. Mine professorer, mine klassekammerater, politimanden jeg rapporterede til, de er alle bange. Det er et utalt tabu at indrømme at man nærer frygt. Frygt for at komme til skade, blive forulempet eller for sine nærmestes ve og vel. Jeg er fuldkommen sikker på at frygt er noget vi nærer når vi har noget at miste og meget at leve for. Det er en smuk og kraftfuld følelse. Det handler om at finde en måde at leve med den og bruge den som en styrke og drivkraft, dette er jeg meget målrettet igang med.
Hvorfor overhovedet være her?
Jeg har spurgt mig selv
hvorfor jeg med så stor en glæde og stolthed rejser væk fra min ”perfekte” land,
ej fuck anførelsestegnene, for Danmark er eddermanerme tæt på perfekt venner. Vi sidder med alle
kortene på hånden i den vestlige del af verden, og kan vi finde ud af at spille
dem? Det er en anden snak.
Anyway, jeg er jo gal. Hvorfor skifte opvaskemaskine ud med gul skuesvamp og koldt
chlorholdigt vand i vandhanden, og alle de uendeligt mange ting jeg kunne liste. Ikke mindst at udsætte mig
selv for en øget mulighed for overfald og de tilhørende følelser, følelser jeg
aldrig har haft i min krop forinden, som alle giver mig underlige
reaktionsmønster. At være så sårbar.
Jeg takker mine nærmeste
for at magte, rumme og bære mig når jeg har mine tunge øjeblikke. Jeg
undskylder for at I af og til er skydeskive for de frustrationerne jeg
utilsigtet projekterer over på jer, i min bearbejdningsproces hvor både sorg og glæde er
repræsenteret. Der er mange grunde til at jeg netop er her midt i al det,
der i disse dage føles lidt frygteligt. Men det giver så meget mening, selv de
dage hvor jeg er ked af det. Jeg er sikker på at sårbarheden bliver en styrke, så snart jeg, i min rationelle hjerne og fysiske krop, ved at det at turde ”føle” er så meget mere modigt og stærkere end ikke. Hvilket jeg sagtens tør generalisere og sige gælder for os alle. Alt hvad vi er, alt hvad vi har, er skabt af brudstykker af øjeblikke i livet, og det her brudstykke må være vigtigt for min væren her i livet.
Livet føles ærligt og ægte. Det har dybde og substans. Det føles som et
bankende hjerte som man ser det på et hjertekardiogram (min tatovering giver
mere mening for mig hver dag der går), i modsætning til livet visualiseret som
en flad hjertelinje.
English version//
Yesterday was
the day that I hopefully for the
first and last time had to submit a report at
Delegacia Especial de Atendimento au Turista
(DEAT) - which is
the delegation of police
that handles crime against tourists.
I've been told that a way to move on and process traumatic experiences is to articulate them. Talk the experience to complete death. Talk about it until your own and your loved ones ears bleed from listening to it. Visualize and write down. The following is therefore also for my own sake, more than others.
This is one of the reasons I’m going to be honest and not glamourizing while writing down the experience I had last Sunday, when I was attacked by a group of 20+ men/boyd between 10-25 years.
The thought has crossed my mind several times that the easiest and least vulnerable would be to repress and be quiet. Why tell when you aren't on top? Exactly because you're not, and no one is always on top. But if you stand still when a wave comes, it will knock you down. If you dive deep into it you come up the otherside.. I'm going for the otherside.
I've been told that a way to move on and process traumatic experiences is to articulate them. Talk the experience to complete death. Talk about it until your own and your loved ones ears bleed from listening to it. Visualize and write down. The following is therefore also for my own sake, more than others.
This is one of the reasons I’m going to be honest and not glamourizing while writing down the experience I had last Sunday, when I was attacked by a group of 20+ men/boyd between 10-25 years.
The thought has crossed my mind several times that the easiest and least vulnerable would be to repress and be quiet. Why tell when you aren't on top? Exactly because you're not, and no one is always on top. But if you stand still when a wave comes, it will knock you down. If you dive deep into it you come up the otherside.. I'm going for the otherside.
The Phenomen Arrastão
Sunny weekends with the possibility of a good time at the beach is one of our great joys in Denmark and we all go at once. So we do in Rio de Janeiro (RJ).
A warm Sunday afternoon a few weeks ago I was at the beach with a friend of mine for the same reasons. Here I experienced the phenomenon "arrastão" for the first time. The word arrastão is a reference to the tactics behind fishing with huge dragnets.
Arrastão is the words Brazilians use for the collective robberies done by armed gangs often moving through with large crowds very fast and with an overwelming force, where the purpose is to steal everything on the way. The element of surprise, the confusion of the many victims trying to escape, and the extremely violent behavior makes this kind of robbery very effective, and many fear it to such a level that they stay away from the beach permanently. The most famous arrestão happened at Copacabana in '92, and have also happened in apartment buildings and in trafficjams so far as I know.
That Sunday we fled down the beach along with 100's of other suntanning people. After about 600-700m and with pumping heart and high level of adrenaline we were finally out of reach. Since that day I decided that I would keep my distance to the beach in the weekends, also that I didn’t have to tell my mother about that.
Sunny weekends with the possibility of a good time at the beach is one of our great joys in Denmark and we all go at once. So we do in Rio de Janeiro (RJ).
A warm Sunday afternoon a few weeks ago I was at the beach with a friend of mine for the same reasons. Here I experienced the phenomenon "arrastão" for the first time. The word arrastão is a reference to the tactics behind fishing with huge dragnets.
Arrastão is the words Brazilians use for the collective robberies done by armed gangs often moving through with large crowds very fast and with an overwelming force, where the purpose is to steal everything on the way. The element of surprise, the confusion of the many victims trying to escape, and the extremely violent behavior makes this kind of robbery very effective, and many fear it to such a level that they stay away from the beach permanently. The most famous arrestão happened at Copacabana in '92, and have also happened in apartment buildings and in trafficjams so far as I know.
That Sunday we fled down the beach along with 100's of other suntanning people. After about 600-700m and with pumping heart and high level of adrenaline we were finally out of reach. Since that day I decided that I would keep my distance to the beach in the weekends, also that I didn’t have to tell my mother about that.
The assault
Last Sunday I
had to to a dear friend of mine's baby shower. Going there is an one hour
bus ride out of
Rio, to a quiet coastal area called Recreio.
When I need to goin by bus to anywhere
I usually jump on it at the stop just around the corner from where
I live, at Rua Rainha Elizabeth.
Before I left the apartment around 14pm that afternoon - I warned my roomie really to take care of herself because she was planning a day at the beach, "Sunday is damn dangerous, promise me you be carefull and don’t bring along anything"
At the moment, I reach the bus point, an other bus stop, and I hear the yelling, as if it were a bunch of roaring football hooligans or warriors, pumping each other up for going into war. I knew immediately that I was totally screwed. I recognized the energy, and it came from inside the bus where the roaring crowd was seconds away from being let out in the open. Instinctively I moved toward the door. But by no time I was already surrounded by a bunch of running, aggressive males who all was wearing havaianas, shappy, dirty t-shirts and had a distinctive skincolor, the mixture of dust and sunburned skin from the many under a burning brazilian sun. A boy of 12 years tops looked me in the eye with his angry eyes and then he sends a fist in the direction of my face, I dodge (thank god for my 7 years with capoeira), but immediately I get hit in my rips by another and more punches follows. I definitely do not understand what the hell is going on, but my body does, and both get to twist an arm around of someone tries to take my shitty watch, and also I grabbed the fourth guy who with his dirty nails torned my chest to grab a thin chain, you couldn’t barely glimpse it. A fifth dude pulls hard in my backpack and then pushing me forward into the side of the bus with my head first, and then pulls back again. There are litteraly hands everywhere that are trying to force me into something, but I twist myself around, to get them off, instead I get my kicked at my legs. Somehow I manage to turn and as hard as possible I hit a head with the bag of diapers, which I was supposed to give to my pregnant friend. I see a chance to try to pull myself into the bus. I'm so close, but the monsters that they had now become in my head grabs my backpack and drags me out of the bus again. I remember I kick back and “it” loses its grip. The bus doors shut on my leg and remember being relieved of feeling a physical pain that is caused by an object and not a person who wants to hurt me.
Before I left the apartment around 14pm that afternoon - I warned my roomie really to take care of herself because she was planning a day at the beach, "Sunday is damn dangerous, promise me you be carefull and don’t bring along anything"
At the moment, I reach the bus point, an other bus stop, and I hear the yelling, as if it were a bunch of roaring football hooligans or warriors, pumping each other up for going into war. I knew immediately that I was totally screwed. I recognized the energy, and it came from inside the bus where the roaring crowd was seconds away from being let out in the open. Instinctively I moved toward the door. But by no time I was already surrounded by a bunch of running, aggressive males who all was wearing havaianas, shappy, dirty t-shirts and had a distinctive skincolor, the mixture of dust and sunburned skin from the many under a burning brazilian sun. A boy of 12 years tops looked me in the eye with his angry eyes and then he sends a fist in the direction of my face, I dodge (thank god for my 7 years with capoeira), but immediately I get hit in my rips by another and more punches follows. I definitely do not understand what the hell is going on, but my body does, and both get to twist an arm around of someone tries to take my shitty watch, and also I grabbed the fourth guy who with his dirty nails torned my chest to grab a thin chain, you couldn’t barely glimpse it. A fifth dude pulls hard in my backpack and then pushing me forward into the side of the bus with my head first, and then pulls back again. There are litteraly hands everywhere that are trying to force me into something, but I twist myself around, to get them off, instead I get my kicked at my legs. Somehow I manage to turn and as hard as possible I hit a head with the bag of diapers, which I was supposed to give to my pregnant friend. I see a chance to try to pull myself into the bus. I'm so close, but the monsters that they had now become in my head grabs my backpack and drags me out of the bus again. I remember I kick back and “it” loses its grip. The bus doors shut on my leg and remember being relieved of feeling a physical pain that is caused by an object and not a person who wants to hurt me.
When I finally
get my leg free, I have a loud tone in my ear, and the silence is being breaked
by my own fragile voice to the bus driver, "please wait a bit, I’m not going with this bus, but please help me." The vandalizing group, is hammering at the bus
and one licks the
front window with its big dark tongue.
The bus driver says with a guilty and
sad voice "I'll help
you.". The group then went to the Ipanema
beach, most likely to do an arrastão.
And then what?
When the doors separated me and them I was safe. But both
my rational brain and my body now know that I will never be one hundred percent
safe while I live here in this city. Probably nowhere in this world and in the
moment when a sight like that get to you it’s seems tempting to lock yourself
up inside..
At 14:15pm a Sunday afternoon is just as critical as 1am at night, if you don’t know about the places here. And you just don’t when you are an exchange student. Rainha Elizabeth happens to be the last stop at for example the bus route going from Jacaré (to Ipanema) which is a troubled area. This is my fourth time in Rio and I have been raised good on how to act here in Rio, which includes always having a sharp and very concentrated attention to your surroundings and always be alert and prepared. With only with this knowledge I wasn’t able to to prevent the assault this Sunday. But at the same time, I am convinced that it could have ended much worse and I am grateful. Forever grateful that I am alive. A dear friend said to me "You are a woman of pure light" maybe he's right. Spiritual or not. Energies / vibes / atmosphere is something we all feel. The fist I got in my rips could might as well have been extended by a knife etc. "You attracts good things in life, there for nothing more happend to you". I choose to believe that nothing happens to us as human, it happens for us. For us to evolve.
At 14:15pm a Sunday afternoon is just as critical as 1am at night, if you don’t know about the places here. And you just don’t when you are an exchange student. Rainha Elizabeth happens to be the last stop at for example the bus route going from Jacaré (to Ipanema) which is a troubled area. This is my fourth time in Rio and I have been raised good on how to act here in Rio, which includes always having a sharp and very concentrated attention to your surroundings and always be alert and prepared. With only with this knowledge I wasn’t able to to prevent the assault this Sunday. But at the same time, I am convinced that it could have ended much worse and I am grateful. Forever grateful that I am alive. A dear friend said to me "You are a woman of pure light" maybe he's right. Spiritual or not. Energies / vibes / atmosphere is something we all feel. The fist I got in my rips could might as well have been extended by a knife etc. "You attracts good things in life, there for nothing more happend to you". I choose to believe that nothing happens to us as human, it happens for us. For us to evolve.
Fear and vuneralbility
Now, four
days later, the first and largest wave
of shock subsided,
after several showers and many hours of crying, both
silent tears and
sobbing, alone and
in front of the computer screen on skype. Today I laughed about it for the first time. Most nights, the face of that boy (who I got a split second of eye contact)
appears for my inner eye. It is terrible to walk around and constantly feel the
hint of fear, and it is what frustrates me the most about being in Rio, and the fact about being here ownhanded. I already had these thoughts and feelings before the assault, and there are many exchange students who do. Of course these feelings got intensified now. My
heart rate goes from
0-100 faster than
a missile, when a man I do not know comes
a bit too near. People of similar appearance as the gorup is even worse. And it ain’t easy when people
stare at you as if you were an alien with our without wanting to rob you.
There
are no doubt about, that i would have given all my stuff if they had just
asked. But the situation was different from a normal robbery. Violence was the
approach, and my reaction natural and dangerous. What is the most difficult for
me is that they actually touched me and my skin, a pure demonstraion of power,
that my muscles remember. My body is chocked and I'm reacting differently from
what I would do.
If I am forced to go
alone at the street I have my my keys
sticking out between my knuckles... The fear and the limited freedom
is indirectly leading to the feeling of loneliness.
Never have I felt so alone as in the seconds where I, while I was being beaten and kicked, caught glimpses of the passengers on the bus who all looked at me, or of the man who also stood at the bus stop all frozen. Just staring. I was not alone, but I was absolutely alone.
I'm afraid here. I have very little to fear in Copenhagen, I have my freedom to move around without having fear taking up space in my normal everyday consciousness. This does not mean that fear is an unknown feeling in me. But it is quite different to have a hint of fear throughout your whole day, day after day.
Most people here, gringos and Brazilians are afraid and it seems like that’s for a lifetime. My professors, my classmates, the police officer, they're all scared. It is a avoided topic to admit that you have fears. Fear of getting hurt, molested, or of your loved ones being. I am absolutely sure that fear comes from having something to lose and having a lot to live for. It is a beautiful and powerful feeling. It's about finding away to live with it and instead use it as a strenght and something that pushes you forward, I'm currently working on thath.
Therefore I am while being shocked and upset about being assaulted, full of sorrow by seeing a boy of 10-12 years whose fearless brown eyes signals that he has absolutely nothing to lose in his life.
Never have I felt so alone as in the seconds where I, while I was being beaten and kicked, caught glimpses of the passengers on the bus who all looked at me, or of the man who also stood at the bus stop all frozen. Just staring. I was not alone, but I was absolutely alone.
I'm afraid here. I have very little to fear in Copenhagen, I have my freedom to move around without having fear taking up space in my normal everyday consciousness. This does not mean that fear is an unknown feeling in me. But it is quite different to have a hint of fear throughout your whole day, day after day.
Most people here, gringos and Brazilians are afraid and it seems like that’s for a lifetime. My professors, my classmates, the police officer, they're all scared. It is a avoided topic to admit that you have fears. Fear of getting hurt, molested, or of your loved ones being. I am absolutely sure that fear comes from having something to lose and having a lot to live for. It is a beautiful and powerful feeling. It's about finding away to live with it and instead use it as a strenght and something that pushes you forward, I'm currently working on thath.
Therefore I am while being shocked and upset about being assaulted, full of sorrow by seeing a boy of 10-12 years whose fearless brown eyes signals that he has absolutely nothing to lose in his life.
Why being here?
I asked myself why I with so much pride and happiness leaves my "perfect" country, no actually fuck those “”, because Denmark is goddamn close to perfect my friends. We have
all the cards on
hand in the Western world, and are we able to figure how to play them?
I must be crazy. Why
switch the dishwasher out with an yellow disgusting
sponge and cold chlorinated
water in the tap
and I could go on.
And not least why expose myself to danger and following feelings I had never imagined I could ever feel, that are also giving me patterns of reactions.
And not least why expose myself to danger and following feelings I had never imagined I could ever feel, that are also giving me patterns of reactions.
So vulnerable.
I thank my closest and dearest people to be able to handle me with care when I have my heavy moments. I apologize for sometimes making you as me targets of the frustrations I inadvertently projects onto you, in my process where both joy and sorrow are represented.
I thank my closest and dearest people to be able to handle me with care when I have my heavy moments. I apologize for sometimes making you as me targets of the frustrations I inadvertently projects onto you, in my process where both joy and sorrow are represented.
There are incridble many reasons why I’m right here
in the middle of all this, and I'll be marking these things. It makes
so much sense, even on days when
I'm sad.
I am sure that being vulnerable equals strength. As soon as both, my rational mind and physical body, understands that daring to "feel" takes much more courageous, it will automatically gives me strenght. Which really doesn’t just go for me. All that we are, all that we got are made out of pieces and fragments of moments in life, and this fragment must be important for my being in this life.
Life feels honest and very real. It has depth and substance. It feels like a beating heart as you see it on a cardiogram (my tattoo makes more sense to me every day), as opposed to life as a flat heart line.
I am sure that being vulnerable equals strength. As soon as both, my rational mind and physical body, understands that daring to "feel" takes much more courageous, it will automatically gives me strenght. Which really doesn’t just go for me. All that we are, all that we got are made out of pieces and fragments of moments in life, and this fragment must be important for my being in this life.
Life feels honest and very real. It has depth and substance. It feels like a beating heart as you see it on a cardiogram (my tattoo makes more sense to me every day), as opposed to life as a flat heart line.
Assault, assaulted Rio de Janeiro, brazil, crime, crime, heated, street, robbery, rio de janeiro, brazil
Super godt foto ........
SvarSletMore than perfect !
SvarSletBeijos K. :)
Slet