Aquilo que não quero...
Little Boxes
Malvina Reynolds
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky-tacky,
Little boxes, little boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.
And the people in the houses
All go to the university,
And they all get put in boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
And there's doctors and there's lawyers
And business executives,
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.
And they all play on the golf-course,
And drink their Martini dry,
And they all have pretty children,
And the children go to school.
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university,
And they all get put in boxes
And they all come out the same.
And the boys go into business,
And marry, and raise a family,
And they all get put in boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.
Malvina Reynolds
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky-tacky,
Little boxes, little boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.
And the people in the houses
All go to the university,
And they all get put in boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
And there's doctors and there's lawyers
And business executives,
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.
And they all play on the golf-course,
And drink their Martini dry,
And they all have pretty children,
And the children go to school.
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university,
And they all get put in boxes
And they all come out the same.
And the boys go into business,
And marry, and raise a family,
And they all get put in boxes,
Little boxes, all the same.
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.
posted by Salseira at 10:54 da tarde
4 Comments:
Não teria dito melhor. É isso mesmo: nem mais, nem menos. Um caminho próprio, com um tempo próprio, de acordo com vontades próprias, porque cada um de nós é único. Será assim tão difícil de entender?
Quebrar com o modelo, haverá coisa mais difícil? E o preço que se paga por ser diferente? A sociedade marginaliza quem sai do modelo, a começar pela própria família. Quantas vezes não ouvimos aquelas frases clichés, em determinadas fases da nossa vida: "já arranjaste um bom emprego?"; "quando te casas?"; "precisas de arranjar uma boa rapariga para te casares";"já tens 30 anos, já começa a ser tarde para ..."; "e filhos, quando é que mandam vir?", etc, etc, etc...
Como se a felicidade fosse garantida com a aplicação do modelo ou que fora dele não há possibilidade de realização pessoal...
Um dia vou ser diferente, vou ser eu próprio. Hoje é o dia!
Obrigado pela mensagem. Veio mesmo a calhar...
Anónimo,
Não queres deixar o nome?
Gosto sempre de saber quem escreve... basicamente porque sou cusca!!
Mas mesmo que não queiras deixar o nome... podias assinar com um pseudónimo qualquer. Só para se poderem diferenciar os anónimos... caso apareçam mais claro!
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