Memories and guilt

Sleep doesn't come. Guilt takes over me. So I do the only thing that calms me down, I write. I open the notepad on my cell phone and reflect on the feeling that keeps me up at night at that moment.

Notepad on my cell phone:

“Guilt and remorse have always been my feelings after having sex with a man. Guilt for not having the courage to be myself and live my life with who I want. And remorse for deceiving my wife and pretending to deceive my family. My life has always been made up of sex, enjoyment, guilt and remorse.”

YEAR 2002

João Neto's family was taking a big step towards civilization. It's just that with the death of his father, his mother decided to sell everything and go live in the city, she wanted her children to have a better future than her and her husband.

She cried as much as it was possible to cry. She didn't leave her husband's side for a single moment while the body was being laid to rest. He knew he was burying part of his life with him. And it was in front of the coffin that she decided to go live in the city, she couldn't bear to wake up every day in the absence of her loved one , in a place where everything reminded her of him.

They buried their Pacheco, or rather, the late Pacheco, as everyone already called him. In the village cemetery, he was the fifth grave. Although everyone knew that this was the fifth dead person to be buried, no one counted, as there was a superstition that this could trigger more deaths. Joana returned from the funeral still in silence, only answering the questions asked.

- How was the accident, Joana? – asked the friend who came from far away and only arrived for the funeral.

- He was cutting down trees with the motor saw and didn't realize which way the tree was going to fall, that's what happened.

- I'm sorry, my friend, you can count on me – replied the friend.

At home, alone with her children, Joana told her about her decision. They would all live in Barra do Corda, it wasn't the best city in Maranhão, but they could study there. At that moment, João Neto, who was devastated by his father's death and everything that was happening in his life, rejoiced. But he said nothing, because he felt guilty about that feeling.

Although João Neto was already used to the confusion that was his thoughts and feelings, that joy tortured him for a few seconds. So, the mother asked them to pack their things, as they were going to the city the next day. She couldn't bear to look at the humble house without Pacheco's presence, with every object screaming his name.

João Neto placed all his notebooks in a cardboard box. Those texts were a part of his soul, he could not get rid of his outbursts, especially the last one, written to his father. The text that would never be read by its recipient.

And while the children packed the few things they had, Joana watched them, in tears. Now it was just her, a teenager and a six year old. But she needed to try to give her children a new life, she would sell the land and buy a house in the city, where João Neto and Jonas could study. And so he did.

Now. In my office, I open my notebook, the last one I wrote in, because since my father's death, I no longer felt comfortable talking about my feelings. Mainly, after I sent the last text in my diary to my father.

“Our kiss lasted about 10 seconds. I felt like the happiest person in the world, dad. During those 10 seconds I thought that Tiago was corresponding with me, that we could love each other. Then he pushed me and I fell to the floor. He looked at me with disgust and contempt and shouted loudly that he wasn't a faggot, then ran away. I don't care anymore if you know or not. Surely everyone will know that I kissed Tiago. So when you read this text, know that I'm a “ faggot ” and that I don't care. “

Tears involuntarily run down my face. There was a lot of my life in those diaries, which I kept as a treasure. Of my doubts and many memories. And although my father had never read that text, I felt like I was talking to him when I read my decision, which never came to fruition completely.

I never had the courage to be myself. I lived my whole life, in love with my childhood friend, Tiago, I hid from that love. I never told anyone about my wishes and desires. Before out of fear and doubt, now out of cowardice.

I take a while to sleep. I reread all my diaries, it reminded me of my friend, who I don't know where to be. I think about my father and the difficult life I had with my widowed mother. But now I live in São Luís, capital of Maranhão, Brazil. I am a journalist at the most influential newspaper in Maranhão and my name was on all Brazilian news programs, as my investigative reports brought corruption schemes to light.

My personal life, however, was a lie. I love a woman, but I don't desire her. I want a man, but I don't love him. And I left behind a pure and true love, which could have just been the love of friends. Nothing in my life is true, except the money I earn , because even the reports are manipulated. When I discover a corruption scheme, the newspaper – VERDADE MARANHENSE – looks for those involved and only publishes the story of those who do not contribute to the newspaper.

I cry all I can that night. Sandra doesn't have the son she wants. I don't have the love I always dreamed of. Life is not fair, I conclude. I then gather all the notebooks and place them in my desk drawer. And I'm going to sleep on the sofa bed in my office, where I sometimes fell asleep, writing my investigative reports.

Now, if Tiago's friendship would have been enough for me, just as I would be much happier if Sandra and I were just good friends. But the teenager who was able to take the virginity of an almost girl just with the desire not to become gay, still lived in me. Cândida didn't deserve to be deceived, just as Sandra didn't deserve it either, I knew that. Which didn't stop me from deceiving them.

Not that I'm a bad person. All my life I have worried about the people close to me, my mother and my brother are what I love most in life. I know what makes me bad, it's this damn desire added to the cowardice of not accepting myself the way I am. My mother and brother are the only true thing in my existence, the rest is lies and frames. And the worst part is, I'm already getting used to living this way.