<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102</id><updated>2011-08-26T09:37:21.268-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Sabendo quase tudo...</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>39</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-7588796209880386858</id><published>2010-11-23T23:05:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-11-24T10:14:19.099-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Ten reasons why I love England.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOx1Ci7YqQI/AAAAAAAABFk/Kwlyt1EcmmE/s1600/doubledecker01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOx1Ci7YqQI/AAAAAAAABFk/Kwlyt1EcmmE/s320/doubledecker01.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Since I was a teenager I had dreamt of going to England. I knew a little about the country, a mere stereotype. Polite people, 5 o’clock tea, Big Ben, double-decker buses and the royal family of course. What I knew was enough to keep me attracted to it and wanting to study English language all my life. However I never made any conscious effort to make my dreams come true, as 10-15 years ago in Poland, travelling to a foreign country wasn’t that cheap and easy. &lt;br /&gt;Somehow a trip to Britain was planned in my destiny. At the very end of my university course there was a kind of student exchange programme, in which I participated without any hesitation. That’s how my British adventure started. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as I got to England I was enchanted by it. The reality was much better than I expected and even though there aren’t many sunny days in that country and life happens at high speed there I took an instant liking to it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;1. Cultural diversity.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although smaller cities in England are more or less homogeneous in terms of ethnicity, in bigger ones you can make friends from all over the world. I used to hang out with Thai, Japanese and Turkish friends, lived with Arabic, Spanish, Italian and Brazilian ones. Meeting them was a great lesson in culture and tolerance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxrfuuRX3I/AAAAAAAABE8/ZtlUnyUIA70/s1600/multicult+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="211" ox="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxrfuuRX3I/AAAAAAAABE8/ZtlUnyUIA70/s320/multicult+1.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2. Typical architecture.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m in love with Victorian houses. I visited many of them and the idea of having stairs and various floors in a house really appealed to me. Well, not in terms of cleaning maybe. Each floor is a surprise. Bay windows, beautifully shaped banisters, porch windows letting plenty of light in. I just love them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxsNG9PKVI/AAAAAAAABFA/QK10ouoUxeQ/s1600/mid-victorian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxsNG9PKVI/AAAAAAAABFA/QK10ouoUxeQ/s320/mid-victorian.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3. Unique shops.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m not a great fan of shopping but there are some things I like to shop for, like tea and coffee. There is an wonderful chain of stores called Whittard. I could spend hours there admiring the beautiful cups and mugs, smelling coffee, choosing new blends of tea or chocolate. They made a fortune off me as I was one of their most regular customers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another place, a real must, is Holland &amp;amp; Barrett - a chain of health food shops. A paradise for health diet fanatics like me, where you’ll find lots of nuts, dried fruits, seeds, herbal supplements and many other delicacies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I frequently used to visit the Body Shop, which sells natural beauty products. All the pots and tubes are displayed according to their ingredients, which usually are of fruit and plant origin. Not a single visit ended up without me buying a delicious body lotion or a lip gloss. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxs2_IW9XI/AAAAAAAABFE/IwVnzMcT7Xg/s1600/whittard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="313" ox="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxs2_IW9XI/AAAAAAAABFE/IwVnzMcT7Xg/s320/whittard.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;strong&gt;4. Camden Town.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are many street markets in London, but the one that really attracts attention is in Camden Town . This part of town is a meeting-place for alternative people from everywhere. The market products and the variety of people from different “tribes” amaze even a person who has been there, done that and seen it all. Tattooed and pierced all over their body, individuals with different hair colour (including green or purple) and interesting clothes are the norm there. If you are looking for something you can’t describe or explain, you’ll find it there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxtHOlXv3I/AAAAAAAABFI/wy-DwBW_WaY/s1600/camdentown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" ox="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxtHOlXv3I/AAAAAAAABFI/wy-DwBW_WaY/s320/camdentown.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;5. Car boot sale.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once I was invited by my English friend Jason to visit him in Newcastle. He showed me round his city and at the very end of my stay there, he took me to a car boot sale. That was fun. Lots of people were selling stuff they didn’t need any more, displaying it - depending on the quantity -in the boots of their cars or on simple, improvised stalls. It’s a great place to find a bargain like a modern CD player for 40 quid or an LP of your favourite band you’ve been looking for for ages.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxtoXNrgII/AAAAAAAABFM/irXS0dbdEhU/s1600/Car-boot-sale_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="192" ox="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxtoXNrgII/AAAAAAAABFM/irXS0dbdEhU/s320/Car-boot-sale_1.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;6. Notting Hill carnival.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last weekend of August in London is a special time. Everybody who likes to have fun gathers in Notting Hill for a carnival. This carnival is not like the Venetian or Brazilian ones. It’s roots are Jamaican and it comes from racial inequality. With time it has gone through various changes and ended up being a cheerful, colourful gathering of people who want to forget about their daily routine and monotonous lives. There is a great parade of people dancing and following big cars playing loud music, there are huge loudspeakers on almost every corner playing various kinds of music and people dancing and having fun all around. Stalls with different kinds of food from all over the world attract hungry participants to restore their energy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxuqNbXPcI/AAAAAAAABFQ/Y6vlrzGEdl4/s1600/nottinhill+carnival.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" ox="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxuqNbXPcI/AAAAAAAABFQ/Y6vlrzGEdl4/s1600/nottinhill+carnival.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;7. British people.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The stereotype of Brits is a very cruel one, I think: cold, reserved people with a peculiar sense of humour, strictly following rules. I’m not an expert in this matter, but after living in England for 3 years I must say I completely disagree with it. The English are reserved, it’s true, but this comes from their extreme politeness. They are also very helpful. Actually England is the place where I felt most respected compared to other countries. I miss it so much nowadays living in Brazil (no offence). Life following the rules is so much easier and organized and people following them are easier to deal with. Especially when we’re talking about social rules. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We can’t generalize about people anyway. I remember once, when I visited Ely, a small town close to London, I was really surprised when complete strangers greeted me on the street. “Hello! It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” That felt so good. I wasn’t completely anonymous on the street; I felt I was a part of something. A nice way of noticing you and at the same time not intruding on your personal life without permission.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxwUJ2hwmI/AAAAAAAABFU/5ctInoTm1a4/s1600/Oxford+Street+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="234" ox="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxwUJ2hwmI/AAAAAAAABFU/5ctInoTm1a4/s320/Oxford+Street+3.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;8. Pubs.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even though I’m not a beer lover, on the very first day I made a point of going to a pub. Most of them are magical places. I always felt as if I was entering a different world that had got stuck somewhere in the past. Interesting decoration and dark lighting create a wonderful atmosphere. No wonder that once they get there, people stay for hours ordering pint after pint of ale, bitter or lager. I especially love pubs in villages or small towns. The houses there are built with raw stone and the entrance is so low that as you go in you need to bow your head. I said I don’t like beer that much, but there is a special kind that comes from Ireland, called Guinness . A mixture of that with blackcurrant syrup is perfect, although Irish people and real connoisseurs of Guinness would accuse me of profanation. What’s interesting about Guinness is the way of pouring it into a pint glass. It needs to be inclined at an angle of 45 degrees while it’s being filled and then has to be left to rest for a couple of minutes for the foam to go down. Then you top it up. If you are a skilful barmaid (and I used to be), as you pour the last few millilitres of beer you draw a shamrock, the national symbol of Ireland, on the head of the Guinness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxwy-k9pWI/AAAAAAAABFY/G2nmczAdLcI/s1600/english+pub.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxwy-k9pWI/AAAAAAAABFY/G2nmczAdLcI/s320/english+pub.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&amp;nbsp;9. A-Z maps and the London tube.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The London public transport system is amazing. Apart from the buses that in most cases are punctual (with small exceptions when they get stuck in a traffic jam) there is an underground system which is very, very, efficient. Trains come frequently and take you to any place you need. You just “dive” into one of the tube stations and emerge from another one right at your destination. There is something interesting about this means of transport. As it is under the ground the pressure there is different, which causes drowsiness. There were quite a few times when after travelling for around 30 minutes I almost fell asleep reading my book or the famous Metro, a free newspaper that is available at the entrance to each tube station. The phrase “Mind the gap between the train and the platform” heralds the approach of every train to the station, accompanies you on every trip and has become a symbol of the London tube.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you decide to explore London on foot, there is a wonderful book called the London A-Z map. It made my life so much easier. Thanks to it, there was no place in the city I wasn’t able to find. I think I was born to use it, after all they call me Agata Zgarda for some reason. I regret so much having left it behind when I came to Brazil. It would be an nice souvenir to have around. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxw-vczd9I/AAAAAAAABFc/KjmTrVf9EG8/s1600/A-Z+London.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxw-vczd9I/AAAAAAAABFc/KjmTrVf9EG8/s320/A-Z+London.jpg" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;10. British music.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It would be a crime not to mention British rock and pop music here. I was practically brought up listening to it. Usually people are influenced by their peers or family when shaping their musical taste, but in my case, I came across various bands by myself. I discovered them and then, after some time, I realized they were British. There is something about the style that attracted me to the British sound more than to the American one. I grew up listening to Pink Floyd, Queen and David Bowie. Then The Police and Sting singing solo. Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin and Marillion were introduced to me by some friends. Nowadays I’m still faithful to them, but there are a few others I have learned to like: Coldplay, Keane, Travis, Suede, Madness and Pulp. I had better stop writing here because the list is rather long and I wouldn’t like to turn this post into a music encyclopedia entry. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was just about to start writing about British series and films, but 10 is 10. Sorry. This may actually be a topic for the next post. Who knows... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxxu_l3tPI/AAAAAAAABFg/6KlkuDBXMOE/s1600/sting-police_793826c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" ox="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOxxu_l3tPI/AAAAAAAABFg/6KlkuDBXMOE/s320/sting-police_793826c.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-7588796209880386858?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/7588796209880386858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/7588796209880386858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2010/11/ten-reasons-why-i-love-england.html' title='Ten reasons why I love England.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TOx1Ci7YqQI/AAAAAAAABFk/Kwlyt1EcmmE/s72-c/doubledecker01.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-161979545410475457</id><published>2010-09-02T13:57:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2010-09-02T14:02:08.133-03:00</updated><title type='text'>A cactus.</title><content type='html'>&lt;table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TH-iyLdMfFI/AAAAAAAAA80/C8OBoRys0rE/s1600/IMG_5220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" ox="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TH-iyLdMfFI/AAAAAAAAA80/C8OBoRys0rE/s320/IMG_5220.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;By Agata Zgarda&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CGeral%5CCONFIG%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CGeral%5CCONFIG%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CGeral%5CCONFIG%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"&gt;&lt;/link&gt; 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 &lt;/m:defjc&gt;&lt;/m:rmargin&gt;&lt;/m:lmargin&gt;&lt;/m:dispdef&gt;&lt;/m:smallfrac&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"&gt;I used to be good with plants.&amp;nbsp; My apartment in Poland was full of them. There was a huge rack on the wall in the living room, filled with pot plants. I used to say I had a small rainforest there. Almost all the window ledge, almost all the shelves in my apartment supported some kind of &amp;nbsp;green species. Everybody said I had green fingers. I knew how to look after my home garden. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Since I came to Brazil my fingers seem to have lost their greenness. The tropical climate has changed them into dry sticks. I made some attempts at growing plants over here but all of them ended up poorly&lt;i&gt;.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"&gt;There was a beautiful areca palm, which became an ants’ nest&lt;i&gt; &lt;/i&gt;after two weeks and withered. Then I was given a miniature rose bush. Watering it regularly and putting in different parts of my apartment didn’t do it any good and soon it joined the areca palm in the flower cemetery. The next guest in my house, a pink begonia full of flowers, shared the same fate.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Finally one day a cactus appeared in my flat. It’s been there a few weeks now and it’s still green and there are even some new stems growing on it. I think I’m slowly getting back to my old skills.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"&gt;There was a time in your life when you controlled all the things around you and you knew how to deal with them.&amp;nbsp; However, things change.&amp;nbsp; Pantha rei.&amp;nbsp; Our bodies change, our way of thinking changes, the environment and people around you are not the same anymore. One day you simply wake up and realise you don’t know what you want from life and you lose your bearings. &amp;nbsp;Life has swept you off your feet without any warning. You feel as if you have been thrown out of a spaceship and are now drifting aimlessly in space, completely lost.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Don’t panic! Even in empty space there are some random flying bodies to catch and hold on to.&amp;nbsp; Once you get a grip on one of them, you’re home. &amp;nbsp;Some constant things around you will help you to build up your confidence again.&amp;nbsp; Step by step you’ll get back on your feet. Start with small things, like the cactus. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-161979545410475457?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/161979545410475457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/161979545410475457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2010/09/cactus.html' title='A cactus.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TH-iyLdMfFI/AAAAAAAAA80/C8OBoRys0rE/s72-c/IMG_5220.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-5174923787964151744</id><published>2010-06-11T09:50:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2010-06-11T09:55:26.467-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Re-post (reply + post) to Ken's "10 reasons why I love Brazil".</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGcv8SgitI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/aq_qMhOuW7A/s1600/blog.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" qu="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGcv8SgitI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/aq_qMhOuW7A/s320/blog.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://kenwilsonelt.wordpress.com/2010/06/06/ten-reasons-why-i-love-brazil-and-no-mention-of-football/#comments"&gt;Ten reasons why I love Brazil&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brazil. Such a short name for such a huge country and so much hidden behind it. Ken has been here ten times and I've lived here for 10 years. I thought it would be interesting to compare our impressions. 10 times, 10 years and 10 impressions or reasons to like it. Here I go:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGmTWkkwRI/AAAAAAAAAmY/9G72yerfaQg/s1600/Imagem+046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" qu="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGmTWkkwRI/AAAAAAAAAmY/9G72yerfaQg/s320/Imagem+046.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;1. The north east.&lt;/strong&gt; That’s the place where I’ve lived in for nine years. It is very different from the other part of the country. I’ve heard, there were even plans to separate the north east from the rest of Brazil in the past. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recife, as it was in Ken’s case, was the first place I stepped on, when I left the plane that took me from England to Brazil. It must have been the same flight Ken took, because even the time of arrival was similar, 2 am. It was a different year, of course. When I left the aircraft I wasn’t prepared for the heat that welcomed me. In Europe, we associate a night with cool weather and I was really surprised with the sensation of a sticky humid cotton candy surrounding everything late night. I had an impression I could get the air in my hands and make cotton balls out of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things moving slowly here? Oh, yes. They really do. People in Bahia mastered the slow lifestyle to perfection. I think I’ll never get used to it. &lt;br /&gt;Beautiful beaches on the coast? Definitely. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGn1iJpEHI/AAAAAAAAAmg/TPe8T2qr0sU/s1600/br-port.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" qu="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGn1iJpEHI/AAAAAAAAAmg/TPe8T2qr0sU/s320/br-port.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2. Brazilian Portuguese.&lt;/strong&gt; There are so many different accents in Brazil, that it is impossible for a foreigner not to get lost in nuances of Portuguese language and impossible for a Brazilian to hide their origin. Thanks to this, people mistake me sometimes for a Brazilian from the south of the country. I live in the north east and the way I see it, Portuguese language here is sung, not spoken. It's beautiful, however unnerving, if you try to use it in TAP plane (Portuguese airlines). I'm not sure, if Portuguese flight attendants understood me, but I had a hard time to understand them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGpG4g_n8I/AAAAAAAAAmo/GTRtUzHF2MQ/s1600/sao_paulo_cidade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" qu="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGpG4g_n8I/AAAAAAAAAmo/GTRtUzHF2MQ/s320/sao_paulo_cidade.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3. São Paulo.&lt;/strong&gt; I've never stayed there for a long time so, I can only say I got impressed by sky scrapers I've seen on my way from one of the airports to another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;4. Denise Stoklos.&lt;/strong&gt; She comes from Paraná, which is one of the states in the south of Brazil, where Polish colony has its biggest concentration. I have the feeling she may be a Polish descendant. Her Polish name would be: Denize Stokłos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGr_HU8fxI/AAAAAAAAAmw/90H-lPfl2VQ/s1600/blackout.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" qu="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGr_HU8fxI/AAAAAAAAAmw/90H-lPfl2VQ/s320/blackout.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;5. Florianopolis.&lt;/strong&gt; Well, it has something in common with Teresina: the energy problems. Not even the smallest drop of rain can fall without a power cut. Sometimes it's enough some street dog decides to pee on a lamp post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;6. Santos Dumont airport in Rio.&lt;/strong&gt; I'm heading to Rio for the ABCI conference in July and I feel the urge to take the same photo Ken has placed in his blog. Awesome! Can you imagine to land on a small piece of ground surrounded by water from all three sides?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGtdvMmv7I/AAAAAAAAAm4/iksPmyLkkN4/s1600/20070808-gilberto_gil_3583.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" qu="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGtdvMmv7I/AAAAAAAAAm4/iksPmyLkkN4/s320/20070808-gilberto_gil_3583.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;7. Astrud Gilberto.&lt;/strong&gt; Ah, Brazilian singers... There are so many of them. Speaking of Gilberto, there is one Gilberto that I learned about, when I lived in London, before coming to Brazil. Gilberto Gil.&lt;br /&gt;I had a friend in UK, June Darling, whose husband used to surround himself with various artists. June told me, there was a time, when Gilberto Gil had to leave Brazil because of political reasons. He fled to London, and was received with open arms by June's husband. I had no idea who he was, when I heard the story. I only learned about him, because I stayed over for the night, after a nice dinner June cooked. My friend put me up in the same room and the same bed, where Gilberto stayed some decades ago. It was also the first time I heard&amp;nbsp; &lt;a href="http://letras.terra.com.br/caetano-veloso/44739/"&gt;Caetano Veloso "London, London"&lt;/a&gt;. Lovely song. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGuvvoeLlI/AAAAAAAAAnA/xQBN6b8fRic/s1600/Imagem+050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" qu="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGuvvoeLlI/AAAAAAAAAnA/xQBN6b8fRic/s320/Imagem+050.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;8. Caipirinha.&lt;/strong&gt; It's definitely one of my favourite drinks here. As Ken said – the best to drink on the beach, which I did, few months ago in Parnaiba. There is a modified option of caipirinha made with vodka instead of cachaça. It is called caipiroska. I must admit, there's nothing better than the original taste. If you prepare your caipirinha in Europe, using vodka and lemon instead of cachaça and lime, it's not caipirinha anymore.&lt;br /&gt;Talking about Brazilian famous drinks, I can't forget to mention coffee. Coffee here is what rocks the world. It's drunk in small cups (takes about 5 sips to “dry the cup”), various times a day. It's actually offered for free in almost all bigger shops and offices (at least in Teresina). As black as hell and as strong as devil. "Pretinho que satisfaz" :-) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGvxecmOtI/AAAAAAAAAnI/nX80MP64gd4/s1600/t-shirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" qu="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGvxecmOtI/AAAAAAAAAnI/nX80MP64gd4/s320/t-shirt.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;9. Socrates.&lt;/strong&gt; I've never heard of him (I'm football-ignorant and Ronaldinho seems to be the most popular football player nowadays), but as we are on the subject of sports, I have to say that football in Brazil is a religion. World Cup has just begun and people here went nuts! Lots of noisy gadgets are being sold everywhere, lots of Brazilian flags are stuck to cars, windows, apartment doors and every second person on the street is dressed in a yellow T-shirt. The world here turned green and yellow. But what amazes me the most is the fact, that on the 15th and the 23rd of June, the days of the Brazilian game, everything will stop. Schools, banks and offices will be closed. Some of the places will remain closed even after the match, just because people will be drinking to celebrate the victory (or will be crying after the defeat). Days off! Brazilian calendar is stuffed with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGwunycZsI/AAAAAAAAAnY/9eYcAjahL-A/s1600/hammock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" qu="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGwunycZsI/AAAAAAAAAnY/9eYcAjahL-A/s320/hammock.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;10. Foot volley.&lt;/strong&gt; I prefer hammock swinging.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-5174923787964151744?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/5174923787964151744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/5174923787964151744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2010/06/re-post-reply-post-to-kens-10-reasons.html' title='Re-post (reply + post) to Ken&apos;s &quot;10 reasons why I love Brazil&quot;.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/TBGcv8SgitI/AAAAAAAAAmQ/aq_qMhOuW7A/s72-c/blog.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-378877546661416125</id><published>2010-05-19T11:33:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-19T11:33:32.283-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Brazil, Brazil...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_P2W-LQWqI/AAAAAAAAAks/8ywM9Rir0nc/s1600/i_love_teresina_mousepad-p144644338460040689trak_400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_P2W-LQWqI/AAAAAAAAAks/8ywM9Rir0nc/s320/i_love_teresina_mousepad-p144644338460040689trak_400.jpg" wt="true" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I left home and set off for Cultura Inglesa in my Chevrolet (General Motors). As I didn't have lunch, I decided to pop in to Teresina Shopping to grab a bite. Food square seemed to offer many options. Brazilian food is quite good, and as I don't cook typically Brazilian meals I looked forward to eating something different. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked around and the first place which caught my attention was Arabian Grill. Hummm... Few metres away there was Light Meals which is also called here a self-service restaurant (a posh version of a popular “pay 5 quid and eat until you explode” in London). McDonalds on the corner turned me off. Next to it, there was Cookie's, which is a good place, as long as you had your lunch and you were heading for dessert. No way. I decided to go to Riverside Shopping, hoping to find some local food. Bob's caught my eye. I didn't feel like hamburger, sandwich or milk shake. I've had enough. I wasn't hungry anymore. Opposite to Bob's there was Brazilian Coffee. That'll do. At least it had “Brazilian” in a name... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was having my Brazilian drink and a piece of cheesecake (I couldn't resist) I&amp;nbsp;received a text message: “I'll be 30 minutes late. I run into some problems”. That was my VIP student, who was going to be late. Something I'll never understand: how come, surrounded by “English world”, people can't be punctual...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-378877546661416125?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/378877546661416125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/378877546661416125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2010/05/brazil-brazil.html' title='Brazil, Brazil...'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_P2W-LQWqI/AAAAAAAAAks/8ywM9Rir0nc/s72-c/i_love_teresina_mousepad-p144644338460040689trak_400.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-4703513349757695613</id><published>2010-05-16T10:13:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-19T11:35:23.404-03:00</updated><title type='text'>AGATA VS THE BRAZILIANS or POLISH - BRAZILIAN DICTIONARY</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S-_uRIGWkyI/AAAAAAAAAkk/sC_xNJ6f_EE/s1600/dictionary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S-_uRIGWkyI/AAAAAAAAAkk/sC_xNJ6f_EE/s320/dictionary.jpg" wt="true" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Polish culture is, without any doubt, totally different from the Brazilian one. If I were to describe my life in Brazil in one sentence, I'd copy Sting saying: ”I don't drink coffee, I drink tea my dear...” Well, maybe not literally, as I looooooooove coffee , but sometimes I feel like Quentin Crisp, from “Englishman in New York” song. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To make life easier for any potential Polish immigrant in Brazil, I decided to write few entries in my Polish-Brazilian dictionary:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Let's meet tomorrow”.&lt;br /&gt;Polish: “I like you. I want to see you tomorrow.”&lt;br /&gt;Brazilian Portuguese: “I like you and at the moment I feel like meeting you tomorrow, but tomorrow, who knows...”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“The meeting is at 5 o'clock.”&lt;br /&gt;Polish: “I'll arrive about 10 minutes before 5.”&lt;br /&gt;Brazilian-Portuguese: “I'll be there around 6 or 7 o'clock.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Question:”How can I get to the cinema?” Answer: “Go straight ahead for two blocks and turn right. Then take your first left and there you are!”&lt;br /&gt;Polish, option 1: “It's on …. street.”&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; option 2: “I have no idea, sorry.”&lt;br /&gt;Brazilian-Portuguese: thinking:“I have no idea but I really want to help you” says: “Take your first left, go ahead for about three blocks, turn left again and there you are! Good luck!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Question: “I'm organizing a party. Would you like to come?” Answer: “Yes, I'd love to!”&lt;br /&gt;Polish: “When? Where? I'll be there and I'll call if something unpredictable comes up.”&lt;br /&gt;Brazilian-Portuguese: “OK, I'll probably be there and bring some people you've never seen in your life.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“There are some rules, you can not do that!”&lt;br /&gt;Polish: “Damn! What a shame. I have to find another solution.”&lt;br /&gt;Brazilian-Portuguese: “There's always a way... Let's bend some rules.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“It costs R$500. Expensive.”&lt;br /&gt;Polish, option 1: “I'll be saving for some time and finally I'll buy it.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; option 2: “Heh, 5 months without going out, but I'll have it anyway.” &lt;br /&gt;Brazilian-Portuguese: “Ah, no problem. I can divide it into 10 times. In about a year I'm done with the payment.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“It's raining”&lt;br /&gt;Polish: “No sun again... I hope the rain stops soon.”&lt;br /&gt;Brazilian-Portuguese (considering a person is not from Amazonas state): “What a beautiful day!”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Alexandre's birthday is in 10 days.”&lt;br /&gt;Polish: “That gives me 5 days to think what to buy and another 5 to look for it.”&lt;br /&gt;Brazilian-Portuguese: “I'll worry about it in 10 days.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“I saw her entering Pedro' car.”&lt;br /&gt;Polish: “They know each other.”&lt;br /&gt;Brazilian-Portuguese: “They have an affair.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“My dictionary is not finished yet.” &lt;br /&gt;Polish: the same meaning. &lt;br /&gt;Brazilian-Portuguese: I wonder what this would be...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-4703513349757695613?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/4703513349757695613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/4703513349757695613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2010/05/agata-vs-brazilians-or-polish-brazilian.html' title='AGATA VS THE BRAZILIANS or POLISH - BRAZILIAN DICTIONARY'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S-_uRIGWkyI/AAAAAAAAAkk/sC_xNJ6f_EE/s72-c/dictionary.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-7626334257575805945</id><published>2010-05-09T19:13:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2010-05-09T19:19:32.235-03:00</updated><title type='text'>How to commit a crime and get away with it.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S-cykd_145I/AAAAAAAAAjU/ydOBKyaZQwU/s1600/blitz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S-cykd_145I/AAAAAAAAAjU/ydOBKyaZQwU/s320/blitz.jpg" tt="true" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a beautiful Saturday morning in Teresina (Piaui, Brazil).&amp;nbsp;The sun was shining, birds were chirping, the temperature was still relatively low (who cares anyway with AC in the car) and I was happily going to work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last turn, a ride under newly bult bridge and there it was, waiting for me... Various red and white cones narrowing the passage of the road, directing cars into a narrow part where few nice men in khaki uniforms were kindly pointing vehicles to stop. The traffic control police.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A wave of heat went through my body in my air conditioned car. Naaaaah... Why so scared... The car is new, papers in order, no worries. I relaxed a bit and with a smile opened the window handing in my licence and car papers. The police officer had a look at the documents, went around the car and finally spoke to me: “Madame, your driving licence has expired 3 months ago”. I didn’t understand at first and I was looking innocently at the guy. “Excuse me?” My green eyes met a hard dark-eyed stare. The man patiently repeated his statement. In moments of distress my speaking skills tend to disappear and Portuguese vocabulary gets terribly rudimental, so the result of my explanation was rather poor. The police officer just looked at me, smiled and said: “I don’t like to let people drive without a valid driving licence, but I’ll make an exception. Just make sure you validate your papers asap”. I could start breathing again, coming back to my normal colour. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I finally got to work I found out I could have been heavily fined, had my car detained and driving licence taken. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What saved me that day? I believe it was my blonde hair and green eyes which are unusual here. After all in the kingdom of blind one-eyed is a king. Who would fine a king...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-7626334257575805945?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/7626334257575805945'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/7626334257575805945'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2010/05/how-to-commit-crime-and-get-away-with.html' title='How to commit a crime and get away with it.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S-cykd_145I/AAAAAAAAAjU/ydOBKyaZQwU/s72-c/blitz.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-5005923038874664282</id><published>2009-12-11T17:04:00.007-03:00</published><updated>2010-06-08T23:16:23.791-03:00</updated><title type='text'>New post :-)</title><content type='html'>Ken Wilson&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SyKryruSJvI/AAAAAAAAALQ/RP6CpiW96HU/s1600-h/Ken.jpg"&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414078589271418610" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SyKryruSJvI/AAAAAAAAALQ/RP6CpiW96HU/s320/Ken.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 239px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was invited to post in Ken Wilson's blog. Have a look there to read it:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://kenwilsonelt.wordpress.com/2009/12/11/guest-post-1-a-polish-dinner-party-in-brazil/"&gt;guest post&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ken Wilson is a teacher, trainer, author of ELT materials and a director of the English Teaching Theatre. What's more, he is a wonderful person I met in ACINE conference in 2008. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One more time: Ken, it was a great pleasure to write for you. Thank you very much for your invitation.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-5005923038874664282?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/5005923038874664282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/5005923038874664282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2009/12/new-post.html' title='New post :-)'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SyKryruSJvI/AAAAAAAAALQ/RP6CpiW96HU/s72-c/Ken.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-7847897074583082924</id><published>2009-09-13T18:55:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-09-13T19:06:35.580-03:00</updated><title type='text'>A CODE OF CONDUCT FOR TEACHERS</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/Sq1p6P6scMI/AAAAAAAAAKw/eWyAeJFtIGQ/s1600-h/2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/Sq1p6P6scMI/AAAAAAAAAKw/eWyAeJFtIGQ/s320/2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381073579203653826" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;Teachers having fun in Brazil &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt;&lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt;&lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CErico%5CCONFIG%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt;&lt;o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"&gt;&lt;/o:smarttagtype&gt;&lt;o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"&gt;&lt;/o:smarttagtype&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:hyphenationzone&gt;21&lt;/w:HyphenationZone&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt;   &lt;w:validateagainstschemas/&gt;   &lt;w:saveifxmlinvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:ignoremixedcontent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;    &lt;w:dontgrowautofit/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if !mso]&gt;&lt;object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"&gt;&lt;/object&gt; &lt;style&gt; st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0cm; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 	{size:612.0pt 792.0pt; 	margin:70.85pt 3.0cm 70.85pt 3.0cm; 	mso-header-margin:36.0pt; 	mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Section1;} --&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable 	{mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; 	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; 	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; 	mso-style-noshow:yes; 	mso-style-parent:""; 	mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; 	mso-para-margin:0cm; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:10.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-ansi-language:#0400; 	mso-fareast-language:#0400; 	mso-bidi-language:#0400;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;A new code of conduct for teachers comes into life next month. The code was elaborated by the General Teaching Council for &lt;st1:country-region st="on"&gt;England&lt;/st1:country-region&gt; (and thanks God not &lt;st1:country-region st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Brazil&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:country-region&gt;!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old one was not bad at all. Let's have a look at some more entertaining parts of it and imagine we're in &lt;st1:country-region st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;England&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:country-region&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.1 General&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;"...Ambiguous or ambivalent comment and conduct, in particular, should be avoided."&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gosh! Don't we all interpret what we hear through our personal filter? Imagine your student finishing their fruit after the break. Eating time is over; having a snack in the classroom isn't welcome. "Eat you banana" you order. Well, watch your mouth, what a nasty thing to say!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.2 Physical Contact&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;"...Touching pupils, including well-intentioned informal and formal gestures such as putting a hand on the shoulder or arm, can, if repeated regularly, lead to questions being raised."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, dear... I read in magazine that human touch performs miracles, makes us feel relaxed, closer to people around which decreases our stress level, newborns develop better being touched... Careful. It doesn't work with students. They are a different species. The sex obsessed one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks God they let teachers touch their students in few cases. For example when a pupil wants to jump from the window or when they cry -  but only if it's a kid (crying adult is out of rich!) and also be careful here because : "&lt;i&gt;...Particular care must be taken in instances, which involve the same pupil over a period of time...&lt;/i&gt;" Sorry little boy, you can cry only once in my classroom...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.3 Private meetings&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;i&gt;Private meetings, by their very nature, provide opportunities for pupils to make malicious allegations...&lt;/i&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Run Forrest! Ruuuun! Whenever student wants to clarify a doubt after the lesson - run for your life!&lt;br /&gt;Ana, sorry, we can not be friends any longer as you are my student. Don't come to my place anymore, unless you quit studying...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.6 Comments and Discussions with Pupils&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;"...Employees must avoid comments to or about pupils which could be taken to have sexual overtones...&lt;/i&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Editors of course books - PLEASE, no more "How old are you?", "Are you married?", or "What's the best place for the first date?" questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What about new code of conduct? Well, it requires  teachers to uphold 'public trust' in their profession outside school. No more partying, no more drinking, no more shagging. It's immoral. After all, tutors need to give an example.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was reading it and I felt a great relief. I live in &lt;st1:country-region st="on"&gt;&lt;st1:place st="on"&gt;Brazil&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:country-region&gt; where people touch each other all the time during a simple "How are things?" conversation. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-7847897074583082924?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/7847897074583082924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/7847897074583082924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2009/09/code-of-conduct-for-teachers.html' title='A CODE OF CONDUCT FOR TEACHERS'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/Sq1p6P6scMI/AAAAAAAAAKw/eWyAeJFtIGQ/s72-c/2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-917781702351266136</id><published>2009-09-11T10:19:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2009-09-11T10:24:41.792-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Few thoughts from Poland 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SqpLqPPcSHI/AAAAAAAAAKg/n6qrAUKUcoo/s1600-h/Obraz+975.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SqpLqPPcSHI/AAAAAAAAAKg/n6qrAUKUcoo/s320/Obraz+975.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380195893865367666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;Nina and Filip by Agata Zgarda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;14.07.2009&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt;&lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt;&lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CErico%5CCONFIG%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:hyphenationzone&gt;21&lt;/w:HyphenationZone&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt;   &lt;w:validateagainstschemas/&gt;   &lt;w:saveifxmlinvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:ignoremixedcontent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;    &lt;w:dontgrowautofit/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0cm; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 	{size:595.3pt 841.9pt; 	margin:70.85pt 3.0cm 70.85pt 3.0cm; 	mso-header-margin:35.4pt; 	mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Section1;} --&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable 	{mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; 	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; 	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; 	mso-style-noshow:yes; 	mso-style-parent:""; 	mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; 	mso-para-margin:0cm; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:10.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-ansi-language:#0400; 	mso-fareast-language:#0400; 	mso-bidi-language:#0400;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="" lang="EN-US"&gt;Whenever one thinks about passage of time, at the same time dreams about lasting forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday my daughter met 5 year old Filip. They played the whole day together and when the boy was leaving Nina hugged him. Filip said: 'I'll come here tomorrow if you do it again.'&lt;br /&gt;Twenty-something years ago I played with Filip's father...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One minute passes, nobody notices. Two more add to it, we still don't pay attention. After twenty years reality blindsides you at 5 pm on some idle Tuesday.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-917781702351266136?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/917781702351266136'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/917781702351266136'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2009/09/few-thoughts-from-poland-2.html' title='Few thoughts from Poland 2'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SqpLqPPcSHI/AAAAAAAAAKg/n6qrAUKUcoo/s72-c/Obraz+975.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-2134862458553679697</id><published>2009-09-08T08:18:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2009-09-08T08:21:03.604-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Tragic death</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SqY6QBQG-jI/AAAAAAAAAKY/CntupYkBPu4/s1600-h/bruno-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 186px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SqY6QBQG-jI/AAAAAAAAAKY/CntupYkBPu4/s320/bruno-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379050851828955698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;"Br&lt;/span&gt;&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt;&lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt;&lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;link style="font-style: italic;" rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CErico%5CCONFIG%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:hyphenationzone&gt;21&lt;/w:HyphenationZone&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt;   &lt;w:validateagainstschemas/&gt;   &lt;w:saveifxmlinvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:ignoremixedcontent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;    &lt;w:dontgrowautofit/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0cm; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 	{size:595.3pt 841.9pt; 	margin:70.85pt 3.0cm 70.85pt 3.0cm; 	mso-header-margin:35.4pt; 	mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Section1;} --&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable 	{mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; 	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; 	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; 	mso-style-noshow:yes; 	mso-style-parent:""; 	mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; 	mso-para-margin:0cm; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:10.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-ansi-language:#0400; 	mso-fareast-language:#0400; 	mso-bidi-language:#0400;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;üno" by Sacha Baron Cohen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt;&lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt;&lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CErico%5CCONFIG%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:hyphenationzone&gt;21&lt;/w:HyphenationZone&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt;   &lt;w:validateagainstschemas/&gt;   &lt;w:saveifxmlinvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:ignoremixedcontent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;    &lt;w:dontgrowautofit/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0cm; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 	{size:595.3pt 841.9pt; 	margin:70.85pt 3.0cm 70.85pt 3.0cm; 	mso-header-margin:35.4pt; 	mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Section1;} --&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable 	{mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; 	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; 	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; 	mso-style-noshow:yes; 	mso-style-parent:""; 	mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; 	mso-para-margin:0cm; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:10.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-ansi-language:#0400; 	mso-fareast-language:#0400; 	mso-bidi-language:#0400;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I saw &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Brüno (2009)&lt;/span&gt; yesterday. I wasn't sure but now I know...  Contemporary&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; American&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; cinema is dying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;A few minutes of not writing to mourn the loss...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt; &lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt; &lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt; &lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt; &lt;link style="font-style: italic;" rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CErico%5CCONFIG%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt; &lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:hyphenationzone&gt;21&lt;/w:HyphenationZone&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt;   &lt;w:validateagainstschemas/&gt;   &lt;w:saveifxmlinvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:ignoremixedcontent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;    &lt;w:dontgrowautofit/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt; &lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0cm; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 	{size:595.3pt 841.9pt; 	margin:70.85pt 3.0cm 70.85pt 3.0cm; 	mso-header-margin:35.4pt; 	mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Section1;} --&gt;&lt;/style&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-2134862458553679697?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/2134862458553679697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/2134862458553679697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2009/09/tragic-death.html' title='Tragic death'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SqY6QBQG-jI/AAAAAAAAAKY/CntupYkBPu4/s72-c/bruno-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-7420291071665136117</id><published>2009-09-05T15:11:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2009-09-05T15:15:39.796-03:00</updated><title type='text'>A story.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SqFv9HVAJVI/AAAAAAAAAKI/HBJwUGf23tA/s1600-h/zipit.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 244px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377702525786924370" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SqFv9HVAJVI/AAAAAAAAAKI/HBJwUGf23tA/s320/zipit.gif" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read this story and felt like sharing it with you :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once upon a time, there was this little sparrow, who while flying south for the winter froze solid and fell to the ground. To make matters worse the cow appeared and crapped on him, but the manure was all warm and it defrosted him. So there he is, he's warm and he's happy to be alive and he starts to sing. A hungry cat comes along and he clears off the manure and he looks at the little bird and then he eats him.&lt;br /&gt;The moral of the story is this: everyone who craps on you is not necessarily your enemy and everyone who gets you out of crap is not necessarily your friend and if you’re warm and happy wherever you are, you should just keep your big mouth shut.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-7420291071665136117?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/7420291071665136117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/7420291071665136117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2009/09/story.html' title='A story.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SqFv9HVAJVI/AAAAAAAAAKI/HBJwUGf23tA/s72-c/zipit.gif' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-781915838815973664</id><published>2009-09-04T15:36:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2009-09-04T15:53:58.394-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Mutual admiration circle</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SqFhZt2t1LI/AAAAAAAAAKA/9F3-gbBoICU/s1600-h/Obraz+198.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SqFhZt2t1LI/AAAAAAAAAKA/9F3-gbBoICU/s320/Obraz+198.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377686524490798258" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;Photo by Agata Zgarda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;What a great motivation other blogger can be! Your enthusiasm made me feel like writing more or rather coming back to writing after a while. I always complain about lack of time, which turned to be a great excuse for everything. The truth is, time can be moulded the way one wants it. The great challenge here is to realise that and take things firmly in one's hands :-)&lt;br /&gt;Grip it, shape it, use it, it's yours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you Ken :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-781915838815973664?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/781915838815973664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/781915838815973664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2009/09/mutual-admiration-circle.html' title='Mutual admiration circle'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SqFhZt2t1LI/AAAAAAAAAKA/9F3-gbBoICU/s72-c/Obraz+198.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-4837728249448100217</id><published>2009-09-04T15:20:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2009-09-04T15:58:08.149-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Few thoughts from Poland.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SqFZfhf69_I/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNhedSVJrS4/s1600-h/Obraz+831.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SqFZfhf69_I/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNhedSVJrS4/s320/Obraz+831.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377677828160157682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;I was exactly on the left side of this port wine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;This is what went through my mind while I was lying on the grass in my parents' summer house with a pen, paper and a glass of port:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;13.07.2009&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Time is a slut. Present mixes with past and future. Here I am in the middle of the forest again, listening to Olsztyn radio station playing some oldies. Nice soundtrack to my stream of thoughts... It took me back in time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to come here every summer when I lived in Poland. Now I'm here again, doing the same stuff I did years ago. Only things have changed slightly and their perception isn't the same anymore. Am I doing all these things again because I want to go back in time, because that's what I'm supposed to do here or because what I do now will change the future?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who cares...I'm here now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NOW. I love this word. Saying it I feel as if I caught the present moment red-handed. Few weeks from now the present moment will be the past already. What a shame."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-4837728249448100217?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/4837728249448100217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/4837728249448100217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2009/04/few-thoughts-from-poland.html' title='Few thoughts from Poland.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SqFZfhf69_I/AAAAAAAAAJ4/wNhedSVJrS4/s72-c/Obraz+831.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-5935560193432871133</id><published>2009-06-19T18:33:00.009-03:00</published><updated>2009-06-19T20:22:57.731-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Great expectations.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SjwXJUHE5mI/AAAAAAAAAJw/cstP4TIEvrk/s1600-h/studying+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SjwXJUHE5mI/AAAAAAAAAJw/cstP4TIEvrk/s320/studying+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349175906193958498" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a teacher once. She wasn't the most brilliant teacher in the world, but good enough to have productive lessons with. I loved the subject and I liked the tutor. The best combination in academic world ever. &lt;br /&gt;One day there was a lecture whose topic got my full attention. After returning home I started searching for more info trying to feed my curiosity. Not only had I gotten intellectually satisfied but also discovered something I thought the teacher may not be aware of. The next step was printing some stuff out and delivering it to my lecturer. Considering my colleagues' lack of enthusiasm, my 'display of interest' was a well planted seed. The teacher got really excited about having a keen listener and since then on she kept presenting me with various extras. All the lectures were directed straight to my ears and the eye contact got so constant I had an impression she didn't acknowledge the presence of about 40 other students in the room. &lt;br /&gt;The worst part was about to come. Since the teacher ran out of interesting topics, my attention decreased proportionally. The tutors's enthusiasm didn't. Things kept coming into my hands. Printouts, copies, extra volumes of books. The collection of it was growing as fast as my interest was falling. My mentor expected too much from me. She saw in me someone interested in her knowledge, while my interest was limited to that single topic from which everything started. I got fed up. She saw my lack of interest and got hurt because she found out I wasn't the way she expected me to be. I got hurt finding out she got disappointed.&lt;br /&gt;That was a great lesson. Expecting too much from others hurts. It clouds our judgment and gets the real person out of focus.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-5935560193432871133?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/5935560193432871133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/5935560193432871133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2009/06/great-expectations.html' title='Great expectations.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SjwXJUHE5mI/AAAAAAAAAJw/cstP4TIEvrk/s72-c/studying+1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-4697909740393290067</id><published>2009-06-19T14:53:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2009-06-19T15:35:44.490-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Final countdown</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SjvT0zVL_kI/AAAAAAAAAJI/v-2OaKw83G8/s1600-h/olsztyn-gothic-castle.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SjvT0zVL_kI/AAAAAAAAAJI/v-2OaKw83G8/s320/olsztyn-gothic-castle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349101886518328898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" &gt;Olsztyn and it's  Gothic castle. I'll be there soon...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;9 days to go. Going back in time or traveling to the future? Heraclitus of Ephesus said "Panta rhei". You can not step twice into the same river; for other waters are ever flowing on to you. I guess traveling to the future then. I have an impression it'll be like a surrealistic dream. The one in which you know the surroundings but people and some other details are strange, and then - you, in the middle of it.  A bizarre combination of old and new. Do I still belong there? Will I embrace old friendships or look in the eyes of strange people speaking different language?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-4697909740393290067?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/4697909740393290067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/4697909740393290067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2009/06/final-countdown.html' title='Final countdown'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SjvT0zVL_kI/AAAAAAAAAJI/v-2OaKw83G8/s72-c/olsztyn-gothic-castle.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-8971381229216802313</id><published>2008-06-23T00:10:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-23T00:11:19.039-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Here I am!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SF8UATzSrSI/AAAAAAAAAE4/utwvS_J_lyw/s1600-h/3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SF8UATzSrSI/AAAAAAAAAE4/utwvS_J_lyw/s320/3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214908889066286370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My reality got kidnapped by the stream of life. I managed to climb a driftwood after struggling a bit and finally I can start observing life again. For how long? Dunno.... Let's hope for some time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-8971381229216802313?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/8971381229216802313'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/8971381229216802313'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2008/06/here-i-am.html' title='Here I am!'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/SF8UATzSrSI/AAAAAAAAAE4/utwvS_J_lyw/s72-c/3.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-2960716372834731209</id><published>2007-08-08T22:29:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-08-08T22:38:34.205-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Out of the blue.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RrpvmwNcigI/AAAAAAAAADM/wDzgCAP4KqY/s1600-h/Jump.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RrpvmwNcigI/AAAAAAAAADM/wDzgCAP4KqY/s320/Jump.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5096508639890147842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life happens.&lt;br /&gt;It never stops bringing new things on. Picking the best out of the bunch is a skill though. I think I got myself trained enough to distinguish what's bad and what's worth living. I'm living now like never before. And it's only going to get better and better. I know it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-2960716372834731209?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/2960716372834731209'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/2960716372834731209'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2007/08/out-of-blue.html' title='Out of the blue.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RrpvmwNcigI/AAAAAAAAADM/wDzgCAP4KqY/s72-c/Jump.gif' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-8146078916934376399</id><published>2007-07-30T12:28:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-07-30T12:23:21.242-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Hummm...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/Rq4CJgNcicI/AAAAAAAAACo/_6YzJ-9yhRo/s1600-h/drop.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/Rq4CJgNcicI/AAAAAAAAACo/_6YzJ-9yhRo/s320/drop.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093010590891018690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You never know when unexpected happens. It's unexpected, so how would you know anyway.&lt;br /&gt;My whole weekend was unexpectedly interesting. I thought that world was in 3D and apparently I was mistaken. I just got myself close to Fifth Dimension and from this point there's a totally new perspective.&lt;br /&gt;One thing's for sure - small drop of water stirrs the surface.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-8146078916934376399?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/8146078916934376399'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/8146078916934376399'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2007/07/hummm.html' title='Hummm...'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/Rq4CJgNcicI/AAAAAAAAACo/_6YzJ-9yhRo/s72-c/drop.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-3379050762128641241</id><published>2007-07-24T00:46:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-07-24T00:46:58.453-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Fiuuuuuuuuuuuuu...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RqV1UwNcibI/AAAAAAAAACg/HlSCGab5-4g/s1600-h/cat_ani.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RqV1UwNcibI/AAAAAAAAACg/HlSCGab5-4g/s320/cat_ani.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090603953211345330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is a &lt;span style="font-family:Helvetica,Arial,Arial Narrow;"&gt;sinusoidal wave. Once you're up, once you're down. High and low. I was high yesterday and started falling today. I refuse to fall completely, so, I'm acting like a cat sometimes - falling down I'm trying to catch anything, scratching and pulling things on my way. It works. I bounce back to a good mood stage, or at least get onto a nice nauseating plateau where nothingness is a common issue.&lt;br /&gt;Is it a good place to be? Hummm... They say people who live intensly burn quicker. But imagine life on an emotional plateau. No ups no downs. Things get pretty much the same way every day. Blergh. So this is only a stage to get a deep breath, recover the strength and dive into the stream of a great speed again. Back to action.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-3379050762128641241?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/3379050762128641241'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/3379050762128641241'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2007/07/fiuuuuuuuuuuuuu.html' title='Fiuuuuuuuuuuuuu...'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RqV1UwNcibI/AAAAAAAAACg/HlSCGab5-4g/s72-c/cat_ani.gif' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-9040210134988366297</id><published>2007-07-23T00:55:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-07-23T00:58:55.534-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Topsy-turvy.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RqQlxANciaI/AAAAAAAAACY/ba8pMpP58uw/s1600-h/15-Charlies-Dreams.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RqQlxANciaI/AAAAAAAAACY/ba8pMpP58uw/s320/15-Charlies-Dreams.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090235002635717026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Waking up always sets my mood onto a happy mode. Light breakfast and a black coffee are  my religion. Always in a company of a good book. How bad a day can be after such a nice beginning? No way for things to go wrong. As long as you don't expect to win a lottery of course. Who needs it anyway...&lt;br /&gt;I try to keep my eyes wide open throughout the whole day, not to miss anything around. Looking carefully I can notice things that make my day worth and then my brain is processing them slowly classifying into a right category . That's how the normal day goes by.&lt;br /&gt;This weekend though, was completely mad. It left me lost among millions of small happenings that weren't planned. For a control freak (me) it might have been disasterous! Imagine things happening without any plan! Things that were planned just at the last moment and changing few minutes before!!! Whoa! That's too much! But - amazingly - it was great. I gained some stuff and lost some bucks  (talking about VERY unexpected shopping), cooked and ate lots of good food with very, very nice people (and I didn't have to wash the dishes), was exposed to some pampering... Life is beautiful! I want more!&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm sitting in front of my computer and I can't stop my mind from running through what happened. Life with the speed of a bullet train. Stop for a while - save some of the speed for tomorrow!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-9040210134988366297?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/9040210134988366297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/9040210134988366297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2007/07/topsy-turvy.html' title='Topsy-turvy.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RqQlxANciaI/AAAAAAAAACY/ba8pMpP58uw/s72-c/15-Charlies-Dreams.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-8879676607630956197</id><published>2007-07-15T22:37:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-07-15T22:37:29.194-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Para o Professor.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RprLGnADvhI/AAAAAAAAACM/sORFTxq4PP4/s1600-h/DSC03020.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RprLGnADvhI/AAAAAAAAACM/sORFTxq4PP4/s320/DSC03020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087602043477278226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);"&gt;Photo by Ivaneil Lima Mesquita&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Professor, de onde nós viemos?"&lt;br /&gt;"Para onde nós vamos?"&lt;br /&gt; Ele não respondeu...&lt;br /&gt; Porque não sabia...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-8879676607630956197?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/8879676607630956197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/8879676607630956197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2007/07/para-o-professor.html' title='Para o Professor.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RprLGnADvhI/AAAAAAAAACM/sORFTxq4PP4/s72-c/DSC03020.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-1334690073011920991</id><published>2007-07-13T23:09:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-07-13T23:09:59.758-03:00</updated><title type='text'>What can be better?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RpgvenADvgI/AAAAAAAAACE/FnYRExzth1I/s1600-h/Eric+Reis.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RpgvenADvgI/AAAAAAAAACE/FnYRExzth1I/s320/Eric+Reis.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086867982026784258" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-size:85%;" &gt; Photo by Eric Reis&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;"For a lonely soul,&lt;br /&gt;you're having such a nice time..."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-1334690073011920991?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/1334690073011920991'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/1334690073011920991'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2007/07/what-can-be-better.html' title='What can be better?'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RpgvenADvgI/AAAAAAAAACE/FnYRExzth1I/s72-c/Eric+Reis.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-3934196683562924550</id><published>2007-07-07T23:34:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-07-07T23:47:47.580-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Understanding.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RpBHTKMX8nI/AAAAAAAAAB8/XE8J2ridZgY/s1600-h/stones.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RpBHTKMX8nI/AAAAAAAAAB8/XE8J2ridZgY/s320/stones.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084642373780632178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't sleep enough last night. Normally it would be a reason to complain, but I won't do that.&lt;br /&gt;It was a NIGHT. And after that night there was a DAY. Great night followed by not less great day.&lt;br /&gt;Living a day, after restlessly spent night time, triggers lots of thoughts. Somehow it opens a secret door to understanding. Almost like being under a drug influence.&lt;br /&gt;I understood many things. Obvious things that I don't usually pay attention to, because I take them for granted. Understanding them came to me this evening, which went differently from planned. Unaccomplished plans aren't the reason to get idle - what comes into a void is a new chain of events, that leads to the future. Nothing lost, nothing wasted, even if it seems to be so.&lt;br /&gt;So,  I'm sitting here, watching a film of today's events. It's passing before my eyes.&lt;br /&gt;It shocked me again how little control I have over some things. I understood that this lack of control makes no difference to me and at the same time turns my life upside down.&lt;br /&gt;Whatever happens always happens for a reason. Even the smallest fact that seems to be unimportant is a part of a bigger picture.&lt;br /&gt;I'm afraid to go to sleep. I don't want to miss a thing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-3934196683562924550?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/3934196683562924550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/3934196683562924550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2007/07/understanding.html' title='Understanding.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RpBHTKMX8nI/AAAAAAAAAB8/XE8J2ridZgY/s72-c/stones.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-7482416585419372909</id><published>2007-07-06T00:01:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-07-06T01:38:00.545-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Supremacy.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/Ro2WOqMX8mI/AAAAAAAAAB0/M7VejyorEOs/s1600-h/intelligence.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/Ro2WOqMX8mI/AAAAAAAAAB0/M7VejyorEOs/s320/intelligence.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083884732959683170" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;There's no other life beyond the Earth. I don't believe in higher intelligence. We're the most intelligent beings in the universe.&lt;br /&gt;How did I get to this conclusion?&lt;br /&gt;Well... Living is like solving a mathematical equation with lots of unknown factors. Human being must be either extremely lucky or incredibly intelligent to find its wherebouts in this life maze.&lt;br /&gt;I bet on the second.&lt;br /&gt;It's just sometimes that we're not capable of getting 100% of what our brain offers. Then the luck enters the stage.&lt;br /&gt;Einstein was a prophet. He had a peer into the inalienable truths and he came up with his theory of relativity. This theory is nothing more, nothing less, but the essence of life. Everything is relative. How we see things shapes our opinions, provokes our thoughts and feelings. Sharing them with others, paints a picture of us in their minds (and each one has a different picture!). That's how they see us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;But again - how they see us, depends on their personal filter, which was created by influence of people's coincidental presence around.&lt;/div&gt;Perpetuum mobile.&lt;br /&gt;Understanding it takes a great deal of intelligence.&lt;br /&gt;Did you get it? Yes? Good, you're brainy. No? You're lucky. You have me around. I'm going to have an impact on you. Wanting it or not. It's inevitable. No way back. You've just read it, so I made my coincidental (or not...) presence around you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-7482416585419372909?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/7482416585419372909'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/7482416585419372909'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2007/07/supremacy.html' title='Supremacy.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/Ro2WOqMX8mI/AAAAAAAAAB0/M7VejyorEOs/s72-c/intelligence.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-6345712134241156802</id><published>2007-07-05T00:01:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-07-04T20:40:45.084-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Moment of magic.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RosX96MX8kI/AAAAAAAAABk/xtrnBqL1NOs/s1600-h/kawa+i+czekolada.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083182956778353218" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RosX96MX8kI/AAAAAAAAABk/xtrnBqL1NOs/s320/kawa+i+czekolada.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's coming.&lt;br /&gt;Shivers of anticipation run through my body. Close is the moment, when my lips will feel hot touch of yours. Magic of this moment is driving me crazy. The taste, the smell, the touch , all the sensations united together into a perfect blend.&lt;br /&gt;Just you and me, stolen moments of intimacy.&lt;br /&gt;Let me dive deep into velvety darkness of your soul...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-6345712134241156802?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/6345712134241156802'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/6345712134241156802'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2007/06/moment-of-magic.html' title='Moment of magic.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RosX96MX8kI/AAAAAAAAABk/xtrnBqL1NOs/s72-c/kawa+i+czekolada.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-4256363444101953930</id><published>2007-07-04T20:37:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-07-04T20:37:27.226-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Morning.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RosK2aMX8jI/AAAAAAAAABc/NTjQlns5n-g/s1600-h/gota.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083168534278173234" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; cursor: pointer; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RosK2aMX8jI/AAAAAAAAABc/NTjQlns5n-g/s320/gota.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Waking up everyday is like being reborn again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And each time life just gets better and better...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-4256363444101953930?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/4256363444101953930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/4256363444101953930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2007/07/morning.html' title='Morning.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RosK2aMX8jI/AAAAAAAAABc/NTjQlns5n-g/s72-c/gota.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-4061107289141374932</id><published>2007-07-03T00:52:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-07-03T00:59:53.086-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Awakening.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RonHh6MX8iI/AAAAAAAAABU/glDdgZUnvPk/s1600-h/flowers.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RonHh6MX8iI/AAAAAAAAABU/glDdgZUnvPk/s320/flowers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082813039835083298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I received a present today. Something that I lost and I thought forever. It simply appeared again to surprise me. Welcome back.&lt;br /&gt;Cutting the way through thorns and tangled branches to make it's presence wasn't easy. I know. But it's back. A bit different, a bit unknown, with a few scratches. Still bringing smile on my face though.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-4061107289141374932?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/4061107289141374932'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/4061107289141374932'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2007/07/awakening.html' title='Awakening.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RonHh6MX8iI/AAAAAAAAABU/glDdgZUnvPk/s72-c/flowers.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-7099208937176057249</id><published>2007-07-01T23:40:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-07-01T23:53:50.271-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Little things.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RohiKKMX8gI/AAAAAAAAABE/05WVXc592cM/s1600-h/1+016.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RohiKKMX8gI/AAAAAAAAABE/05WVXc592cM/s320/1+016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082420106162074114" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-size:78%;" &gt;                                                                                            Photo by Agata Zgarda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-size:78%;" &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-size:78%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;It's amazing how little things make  life more beautiful and meaningful.&lt;br /&gt;How they change  the taste of food.&lt;br /&gt;How they make the words sound.&lt;br /&gt;How they make the green seem greener.&lt;br /&gt;How they make the sun brighter...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to bed last night and it was different from usual...&lt;br /&gt;I didn't see the boat of dreams. I didn't want it to come. But I went on a trip.&lt;br /&gt;I lost the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight I'll be waiting for my boat of dreams. It'll take me for a trip to Yesterday...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-7099208937176057249?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/7099208937176057249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/7099208937176057249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2007/07/little-things.html' title='Little things.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RohiKKMX8gI/AAAAAAAAABE/05WVXc592cM/s72-c/1+016.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-6225132376319952491</id><published>2007-06-29T14:19:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2007-06-29T14:19:46.416-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Eternal waiting.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RoU-3s8HNmI/AAAAAAAAAA8/SjO0RwmkKI8/s1600-h/waiting.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RoU-3s8HNmI/AAAAAAAAAA8/SjO0RwmkKI8/s320/waiting.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081536881234490978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you waiting for something?&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure you are. Everybody is. For the exam results, for the holiday, for a friend's visit, for time to do something you like... Waiting takes  a great part of life.&lt;br /&gt;When waiting we miss out some important stuff happening around, focusing on what is about to come. It's like jumping from one party to another,  not living in between.&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm closed in a waiting room for a while. Somebody has put me here with no information of what's going to happen next. That was a sadistic thing to do. The masochistic part of it is - I could leave the room, the door is opened. But I'm waiting idly. For what? No idea. For how long? I don't know.&lt;br /&gt;Just waiting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-6225132376319952491?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/6225132376319952491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/6225132376319952491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2007/06/eternal-waiting.html' title='Eternal waiting.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RoU-3s8HNmI/AAAAAAAAAA8/SjO0RwmkKI8/s72-c/waiting.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-3079389061907888193</id><published>2007-06-28T23:34:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-06-28T23:34:03.923-03:00</updated><title type='text'>From dusk to dawn.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RoRs888HNlI/AAAAAAAAAA0/BLzPdw0urCQ/s1600-h/11.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RoRs888HNlI/AAAAAAAAAA0/BLzPdw0urCQ/s320/11.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081306073986971218" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to bed last night, which wasn't different from the usual. Then I saw a boat of dreams floating on white satin of my bed. It took me on a trip into an etheric land.&lt;br /&gt;In the morning I couldn't grasp the meaning of what I saw. The boat drawned, killed by the morning sun. &lt;br /&gt;It always comes back again when the shadows of dusk take over the world.&lt;br /&gt;I'll be waiting for the night...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-3079389061907888193?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/3079389061907888193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/3079389061907888193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2007/06/from-dusk-to-dawn.html' title='From dusk to dawn.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RoRs888HNlI/AAAAAAAAAA0/BLzPdw0urCQ/s72-c/11.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-2686755685293236742</id><published>2007-06-27T22:32:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-06-28T23:40:38.496-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Homenage for M.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RoMP9s8HNkI/AAAAAAAAAAs/1Pjn_-bk_Ks/s1600-h/a-gata.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RoMP9s8HNkI/AAAAAAAAAAs/1Pjn_-bk_Ks/s320/a-gata.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080922357313779266" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt;                                               &lt;span&gt;I smile, therefore I am.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-2686755685293236742?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/2686755685293236742'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/2686755685293236742'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2007/06/homenage-for-m.html' title='Homenage for M.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RoMP9s8HNkI/AAAAAAAAAAs/1Pjn_-bk_Ks/s72-c/a-gata.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-113854384364138938</id><published>2007-03-16T15:32:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2007-03-16T15:32:44.108-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Time...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RfrgE8AS2_I/AAAAAAAAAAM/A2Bk1GCUV-M/s1600-h/4.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RfrgE8AS2_I/AAAAAAAAAAM/A2Bk1GCUV-M/s320/4.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042589108226153458" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once you think your life is set and organized you're pretty much mistaken. Changes just hide around the corner waiting to jump out in the moment you least expect. They come and scramble your life like an egg. It took me quite a while to come back here and I'm still not quite convinced yet...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-113854384364138938?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/113854384364138938'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/113854384364138938'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2006/01/life-is-full-of-surprises.html' title='Time...'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/RfrgE8AS2_I/AAAAAAAAAAM/A2Bk1GCUV-M/s72-c/4.gif' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-113159133616841540</id><published>2005-11-09T06:04:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-11-10T00:58:40.546-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Vampires.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4619/1731/1600/10162955.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4619/1731/320/10162955.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vampires. Creatures of the dark. Undead. Immortal. Sharp-teethed blood suckers. Threat for warm-blooded humans. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do we know about them? Well... They are cold-blooded killers hunting for their victims at night, deeping their teeth into human flesh looking for arteries, to satisfy their thirst for blood. After their hunting they look for dark places, preferably a nice cosy coffin, and they lock themselves there before the first sun rays welcome the earth in the morning. It is commonly known that they are afraid of silver bullets, garlic and crosses. What ends up their life is, as we believe, a stake thrusted into their heart, fire or sunlight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are the things we hear all the time. But the issue here is - do vampires really exist? Aren't they only a part of a cultural myth, stories passed from generations to generations? People created these accounts trying to explain things that they didn't understand. Misterious diseases, people's strange behaviour, or other unexplained events. The stories grew more and more, with lots of interesting details attached to them. Changed into what we have today - our well known vampire myth. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let`s have a look at Dracula. Vlad Tepes - Romanian prince. This name, in translation from Turkish means "impaling prince, was used  because of Vlad's fondness for impalement as a means of execution. It was only one if his cruel dids. But according to some, he was a national hero who stood up against the Ottoman Empire. However cruel  Vlad might have been, nowhere is it stated that he was a vampire. It was actually Bram Stoker who created that legend in 1897.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another famous person, believed to be a vampire, was Elizabeth Bathory. A  countess who was known for her exceptional beauty as much as for her cruelty. It was she who invented a famous tool of torture - Iron Maiden. Elizabeth at almost fifty started getting desperate to keep her beauty. Once, a maid who was combing her hair hurt her unintentionally and the countess in one of her fits of anger  hit the maid so strongly that poor woman started bleeding and drop of her blood fell on Elizabeth`s hand. Cruel woman thought her skin looked fresher where it fell and since then she was kidnapping young beautiful virgins to draw their blood and use it to have a bath to regain her youth and radiance. Nobody mentioned that she actually drank blood of her victims. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just one more fact, turned into vampire myth,  for you to know - Gilles de Rais. Gilles was the richest noble in Europe, and in 1420 his fortune increased by his marriage to an extremely wealthy heiress, Catherine de Thouars. He was a gay who found a taste in killing his young victims. He was raping them first and then slitting their throats and doing afterwards even worse things, not to be mentioned. &lt;br /&gt;He was also obsessed with learning how to make gold. Employing  magicians to help him in it, and even wanting to sell his soul to Devil were the desperate means of achieveing it.  He commited so many crimes, but none of them was drinking blood. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Real or not, there were different attitudes towards vampires. Some people hated them, some worshiped, some feared, some were trying to become one looking for the "dark gift giver" all their life. So many movies and vampire stories were created. Some of them showing vampires in a negative light, some of them almost defending their dangerous  nature. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But - do they exist??? This question bugs you a lot, doesn`t it? Does God exist? Most of people believe so, even though they have  never seen Him.  Well, you`ll never find out until you meet one, I guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, my dear reader, let me go. It got dark, and I`m... hungry...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-113159133616841540?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/113159133616841540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/113159133616841540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2005/11/vampires.html' title='Vampires.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-113146765108866423</id><published>2005-11-08T15:08:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-11-10T01:00:20.196-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Sunny day or stormy weather?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4619/1731/1600/NA006343.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4619/1731/320/NA006343.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today you woke up full of beans, believing that you could carry mountains on your back. Hot, black  coffee in the morning busts your energy and few minutes of reading in bed set you, if it is possible, in even better mood. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That "in seventh heaven" state lasts up to the first unpleasant event. It can be simple - a person trying to skip the line squeezing in front of you to pay for their huge shopping, a bad look of your boss, or the heat of the afternoon sun frying everything around. The rest of the day is lost. Nothing seems to have sense, nothing seems to be beautiful anymore. How is it possible?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What`s worse, we need to cherish all these days of starting your day in a good mood, because sometimes you aren`t as lucky as to wake up smiling. Some nights prepare for you a bad surprise and getting your bearings in the morning you realize suddenly that the world is cruel, gray, people are ignorant and annoying, life is a burden to be carried, if you want it or not. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To understand these swings of mood you need to have at least PhD in all aspects of life. Or maybe it is simplier than we think... Maybe we just need to understand ourselves, to know more about our biology...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After all, aren`t we just slaves of our hormones?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-113146765108866423?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/113146765108866423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/113146765108866423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2005/11/sunny-day-or-stormy-weather.html' title='Sunny day or stormy weather?'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-112994434387811960</id><published>2005-10-23T15:22:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-10-23T11:18:22.550-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Bat.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4619/1731/1600/bat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4619/1731/320/bat.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hot. I increased the power of the fan finishing my second glass of water in the last thirty minutes. It got dark, but even the velvety blackness of the night didn`t seem to bring any relief. Sitting by the desk lit only by a fluorescent light of the computer screen I could hear a humming sound of an air conditioning in the neighbour`s flat. So quiet.&lt;br /&gt;I was working on my new post when I caught a sight of movement out of the corner of my eye. There was something black on the floor crawling clumsily. Ah, a bat... "Hey little fellow, lost? My flat is the last place you would like to be in. And, by the way, didn`t I see you here two days ago?" I remembered a similar incident that happened recently. Hummmm...&lt;br /&gt;Some new idea came to my mind and ignoring the bat I returned to the computer to feed it with fresh thoughts. For some time I was completely absorbed by my work forgetting completely the world around. Having finished typing I stood up with the intention of bringing another glass of water and then I fell back on my chair surprised  with the view of the bat. He was still there cuddling his wings close to his small black body. A mouse with wings. Very black, very misterious.&lt;br /&gt;"It`s high time I set you free" I thought.&lt;br /&gt;"Not to worry!" I heard suddenly "I`m here because of my own will".&lt;br /&gt;Wow! Now I was completely incapable of lifting myself from the chair. "Am I getting crazy? Too much work? Hunted house?" Thoughts were running through my mind. &lt;br /&gt;"Listen" I heard again "Get a grip. It`s me, the black mouse with wings..." sarcastic sigh got into my ears. "By the way - I didn`t deserve to be insulted."&lt;br /&gt;I was staring at my guest with disbelief. That`s a bit too much for me. A bat talking and reading my mind? Me considering the idea of hearing it and the will to respond? That`s not what I had in mind staying home alone to let my imagination work on some new ideas. The last thing I would do was talking to a bat! How ridiculous it sounded, anyway. But there he was. Almost still, black spot on the floor. I was about to say something but I gave up. My brain was like a big hard knot, completely flabergasted at the happening situation. For some time none of us made a sound. He, not sure whether speaking to me was a good idea and I, not sure of my sanity.&lt;br /&gt;It was him who decided to break the silence. "I`m going to tell you something, but don`t rack your brain too much on it, ok? Keep your mind open". He moved a bit forward. "The bat is just a form I took. It`s me, well... you... Huh...What I really want to say - I am you in another parallel world."&lt;br /&gt;It took me about few minutes to digest the speech and decide whether I should react or ignore what was happening. As crazy as I could be I finally managed to say something. " Ok, you are me. I am a bat in a parallel world."&lt;br /&gt;" Not exactly. I am you , you are not a bat. I couldn`t just appear in my own shape here, first of all, not to scare you to death, second of all because to cross the parallel world I had to be smaller. A bat is a perfect disguise, isn`t it?" He looked at me obviously proud of himself. "But why are you here? What are you doing there? How come there is another world?" The questions poured out of my mouth.&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I can`t tell you too much, but... I`ve been coming here already few times to see you. I picked some sadness that you`ve been feeling. It usually doesn`t happen, but there`s some strong connection between us. Something must have happened between the worlds and there have been cracks allowing our two forms connect mentally. All what you feel is a part of my feelings too. I wanted to talk to you about it before, but you were never alone."&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah" I admitted sadly "Never alone. So, go on..." &lt;br /&gt;"My dear, your feelings are... hummm... influencing me too much. I have no reason to feel miserable, but now thanks to you, I do. I know, it`s not what I feel, they are your feelings, but it is strong enough to bother me."&lt;br /&gt;"Ow, I`m sorry. I had no intention to butt in the way you feel. You know, it`s not up to me after all. I want to be happy, it`s just... the circumstances aren`t making it easy." I started getting used to the idea of talking to the bat. At the end of the day, there are things that philosophers didn`t dream about. &lt;br /&gt;"Listen, happiness is not only what you receive. It`s what you believe in, what you have to look for too. There are no good Samaritans in any world - not even in mine. Nobody here or there lives just with a purpose of making others happy. You have to understand, this feeling is a state of mind. Your mind that you`re in control of. You have to go after what makes you feel happy. Nobody will give it to you prepared and packed nicely like a christmas present. Learn how to look at things, appreciate what you have around and if it still doesn`t satisfy you -  look for things that do. Try to get them and once you do, make sure you`ll never let them go." &lt;br /&gt;The bat got silent, as if giving me time to chew on what he said. Was I that passive? Living and expecting things to happen? Waiting for the happiness to come and knock on my door? Such a simple and obvious truth.&lt;br /&gt;"There are good Samaritans" I thought looking at the bat. " He came to me just to make me realize that simple fact."&lt;br /&gt;My guest looked at me, smirked and said " By the way, talking to you wasn`t the main reason of coming here. Do you think there would be a chance for me to check my mail?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-112994434387811960?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/112994434387811960'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/112994434387811960'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2005/10/bat.html' title='Bat.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-112964890922997613</id><published>2005-10-20T13:45:00.001-03:00</published><updated>2008-06-18T15:02:11.288-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Fallen Angel</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 5px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4619/1731/320/100-0005_IMG.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-size:78%;" &gt;Photo by Agata Zgarda.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Fallen angel&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; - &lt;em&gt;an angel who rebelled against God &lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;and was cast out of heaven.&lt;/em&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;em&gt;(babylon dictionary)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Angels stay in heaven, demons stay in hell. Between, there is a space that belongs to fallen angels. Our reality. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;There are various myths explaining the fall of angels, but most of them are based on claim that angels had their free will, they felt desire, pride, and didn`t understand the actions of God.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.columbia.edu/dlc/garland/deweever/O/origenes.htm"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 255);font-size:100%;" &gt;Orygenes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; from Alexandria, one of the fathers of Christian Church believed that God created all angels equal and free. However gifted with free will some of angels started abandoning God`s legions on their own choice. Some angels stayed with God, some of them turned into humans and some of them became demons, part of hell, fallen angels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is another myth. Once, some of angels, powerful and heartless machines programmed to assist and protect humans, fell in love with their protegees . They got sick . The only way to cure them was to implant a heart into their bodies. Equipped with a heart, they lost their powers, their perfection of good-doers. They were casted out of heaven, there was no space for them anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fallen angels are among us, looking for their rights to be happy, to experience life, love and also to give love. Going after it, they commit mistakes, get out of track, break divine laws. They still pursue their good-doing mission. This time, however, in their own desperate way, that often crosses the evil zone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It`s fallen angel that is real, humane, it`s him who teaches us how to go through the maze of life taking the best of it. To find a fallen fellow you need to see him first, and only the gifted ones posses this ability. This may happen anywhere, in a supermarket, in a crowded bus, or you just bump into one in the least expected place. It is them, however, who choose you and let themselves be seen, come around to complement you and at the same time fulfill their existance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One must not condemn fallen agels for their dids, their sinful existence. One must not forget - they are fallen, but still angels. Orygenes said that there is possibility for people to turn into angels. Even demons can go back to their original angellic state.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;em&gt;(Author`s note: This text has, by no means, implication in the Bible.)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-112964890922997613?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/112964890922997613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/112964890922997613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2005/10/fallen-angel.html' title='Fallen Angel'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-112941799565483558</id><published>2005-10-16T00:24:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-10-22T02:08:34.693-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Pandora`s box.</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px 0px 0px; WIDTH: 253px; HEIGHT: 181px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="186" alt="" src="http://photos3.blogger.com/img/277/8318/640/100-0003_IMG.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Photo by Agata Zgarda.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Pandora was a woman whose innate curiosity got her into a great ordeal. Once given a box, she couldn`t resist opening it, even though the gods warned her. Together with easing her curiosity she brought herself a great collection of plagues. The whole humankind was invited to join her in facing the misery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nowadays Pandora is a wicked woman leaving her boxes everywhere. Boxes that you keep tripping on all the time. We all live on a huge minefield of Pandora`s gifts on each step. No way to avoid them. No matter how high or how far you jump, sooner or later you are prone to land on one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trying not to move, staying hidden isn`t a solution here. Pandora`s clones are ubiquitous and they rich you even at far end of the globe. On some idle day they will just knock on your door bestowing you with their gift. Imagine your life stuck in one place restricted by fear. A nightmare worse than the one in which you fall from a high building.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other solution to be taken into considration might be avoiding confrontation with any form of life passing by. Living a life of recluse. Brrr... Scary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You may also try plunging into a crowd hoping not to be noticed among others. Well, the lightning strikes sometimes twice at the same place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Problems are inevitable. Bastards born of unknown fathers, spreading through the world with frightening speed. They live their own life and at the same time they are undeniably a part of your life. The one and only way to deal with them is to face them, when they come over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pandora leaves her boxes sometimes on purpose. They are ambiguous - make our life difficult and at the same time enrich us with experiences, so let`s make use of that gift.&lt;br /&gt;Get a grip. Accept the present and use it as a tool to improve your life. And don`t forget - in Pandoras box, there was one good thing among all the evil ones - hope. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-112941799565483558?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/112941799565483558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/112941799565483558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2005/10/pandoras-box.html' title='Pandora`s box.'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-112932775133969434</id><published>2005-10-15T15:29:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-10-23T19:03:56.046-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Modern drug</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 5px; WIDTH: 246px; HEIGHT: 340px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="349" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/4619/1731/1600/100-0007_IMG.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Photo by Agata Zgarda.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="justify"&gt;Tu, tu, ta, tra, la, la... Much distorted version of a trendy melody is heard. Everybody pats their pockets looking for mobile. "Is it mine? Ow, no, false alarm". Wasted moment of anxiety.&lt;br /&gt;Splashhhhhh... Somebody flushed the toilet. "Hi! I'm fine! I was just thinking about you...". &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The toilet doors swing open and a young person with a telephone stuck to their ear emerges from the loo. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can they stand that? Isn't there enough slavery in the world? We are already slaves of convention, time, obligation and no idea what else, so what the heck! Let's employ one more stone to complete the package, to keep us down to earth. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mobile - life saver. Mobile - people finder. Mobile - agenda. One must admit, there are advantages of taking on a little bit of that slavery, but sleeping with it, eating with it, taking it even to the toilet... Letting it monopolize your life... Too much for me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just have a close look at what happens . Leave your house without mobile and realize that fact far from home. Take it with you and then lose it. Keep it fully dressed, decorated with small gadgets and then drop it and destroy completely losing all your data. Heh... Hurts, doesn't it? Your best friend has just died. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The mobile phone companies set off a race of equiping that small device with miraculous functions to make us more dependent on it. Having that piece of wonder is like having an attachment to your body. It becomes indispensable, turns into a parasite feeding on you, sucking your pocket and at the same time stuffing it, addicting you heavily. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soon, in the fast developing era of genetic engineering, we`ll be born with mobile built-in. That`s a relief, isn`t it?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-112932775133969434?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/112932775133969434'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/112932775133969434'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2005/10/modern-drug.html' title='Modern drug'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17852102.post-112929996865863415</id><published>2005-10-14T11:13:00.000-03:00</published><updated>2005-10-22T09:26:44.053-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Day-dreaming</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/277/8318/640/100-0044_IMG.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/277/8318/640/100-0044_IMG.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;color:#666666;"&gt;Photo by Agata Zgarda. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ever seen a day-dreamer? A person staring at something without recognition, without comprehension, without any goal at all? Person not noticing the shape nor the movement? You have found a lucky one. One that knows how to switch themselves off, escape into a wider, more colorful world of fantasy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day-dreaming is one of natural gifts that homo sapiens posseses. The base for creativity and what follows it - development. Why is it so often being knocked out of someone when they are young? Mediocre population doesn`t accept differences, being creative, being introspective is feared by them. One is afraid of unknown, so let`s better pull it out with roots when it starts flourishing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;World is galloping to an end thanks to dream killers. They produce children supressing their creative flair just to fit flat thinking society. The vicious circle is being created when the generations continue the race to conformity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being different is not a crime. Let`s not bring it to a halt, let`s celebrate our differences. Often escapes into a day-dream are the way out, the gate to new world, our salvation. Let`s dream and give others a space to dream. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17852102-112929996865863415?l=sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/112929996865863415'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/17852102/posts/default/112929996865863415'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sabendoquasetudo.blogspot.com/2005/10/day-dreaming.html' title='Day-dreaming'/><author><name>Agata Zgarda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01195298985201831677</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='28' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZY99ij-M_xk/S_WNIROv89I/AAAAAAAAAk0/5IPdZBdUrg0/S220/Ja.jpg'/></author></entry></feed>
