then recently, i thought it was actually kinda fun watching people get drunk cos they do all sorts of funny things.

erm well, i eat my words. as of today, i still hate dealing with them.

it's sort of like tuition-free week now so everyone's letting loose.

so yesterday i had a really fun day cos i went on a impromptu trip to the beach, and it was awesome! am so going there again on friday cos i can't get enough of it! will get pictures soon cos i'm not really in a state where i can upload them.

followed by a pretty nice dinner where four of us made dishes. yep we had sweet and sour pork, grilled chicken in a rather dubious looking herb sauce (courtesy of yours truly), and stir-fried beef that was a tad bit too salty. but it was nice :D

so my housemate comes back and drags me back for this stupid drinking session, challenging our two aussie housemates to see who gets drunk first. wtf she's mad cos those boys drink like fishes. plus i had a really filling dinner and was drinking bubble tea so my stomach was crazy full.

damn it was such a mistake. we played some game where we picked cards from the deck and each represented some thing. i got the card that said "down the whole glass" FIVE TIMES!! and all in a row so i had to drink four full cups one after another, until i couldn't stand it anymore at the fifth cup and drank half before stopping. and of course one of the boys started making puking sounds until i finally ran to the toilet and puked out all my dinner.

sweet and sour pork will never look the same to me again.

anyway i retired for the night even though i was still sober. and had a bloody headache for the rest of the night. case in point: you can't drink so much right after a filling dinner cos everything will just come out. urgh.

my housemates invited more people over and continued. that was when the trouble started. after some rounds everyone started getting high, and seriously, i hate drunkards.

one girl was all red (even to her legs!) and started singing and talking loudly. another guy was really high and started taking stuff from our pantry and pouring condensed milk and honey on everyone. my housemate was talking in bits of french and english, and kept confusing everyone's names. i was busy stopping those crazies from waking up my other housemates. gosh, so tiring.

my housemate sobered up eventually and we shuffled those crazy drunks home to bed. but not without them jumping about and pushing each other into the sprinklers and getting all wet.

bleahhh, what a night.

Then why do we lie about religions, lie about God, lie about the importance of the Bible being scientific fact?

Is not the Bible about Faith in God? Faith that, no matter how it happened, God did it?

Why is it so important to believe that the interpretation of 6,000 year history of the world? does it really matter that the earth can be over 5 billion (BILLION) years old? I say it doesn't matter.

If the earth is 10 years old, it doesn't matter.

What really matters?

That Jesus is Lord and I believe Him to be Lord and Savior of the World.

What else really matters? Ahem - Nothing.

If you've been reading here, you know that adoption was our first choice of expanding our family once we found out I can't have any more babies the old fashioned knock-me-up kind of way. 

My brother used to work for the Air Force and had worked in Kyrghystan in the orphanages there. And maybe you can see where this is going... but it didn't take long into that conversation for me to step back and take another hardcore look at adoption.  

This post is going to be short, my boys are needy today. But I've been hunting for agency information, have found a place that I love, and my guts are inexplicably leading me to Ethiopia. Again... short entry. But I'll just say that I've been looking into heavily, been reading blogs about it... been searching for blogs that area appropriate to me. Not the woman with a dozen children, I can't identifiy with that. Partially the woman adopting their first child internationally because I can identify with their reasons for adopting, assuming it comes from a place of infertility. But I'm still looking for the lady who had two babies and wanted more but couldn't. You know... me.  

And so in short? I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I just wish my body didn't kill babies and I just wish everything was easy. On that note, I also wish my garden had a fountain of cream and that I had pie for breakfast every morning.

Dear pity-party self,

WAH.

Love,
Get-on-with-it Self

1. I came up with the document above the day my pregnancy dream died.

2. I slid the topic of surrogacy into a conversation with my dad while visiting him recently. My dad, the adopted one who I was absolutely positive would be happier with an adoption instead of a surrogacy. I learned a few things. To begin with, he said he'd prefer that we did a surrogacy over an adoption - whole heartedly - because like me he wants more of mom in the world. I miss her so goddamned much. Also, he knows how traumatic my pregnancies have been and like me he wants to see a baby of mine growing in a happy, warm, healthy environment. Secondly, I learned just how petrified he is of me getting accidentally pregnant. He said that if it happened, he'd understand if I terminated the pregnancy and he started to cry. My father, the most (unlike me) hardcore republican person in the world. When actually faced with the idea of abortion, when it involves his daughter putting her life at risk, he said he'd understand if I did it. I of course don't know what I'd do in that situation, which is why I'm getting my tubes tied. But just the idea... just the fact that he even brought it up... it just proves to me how genuinely terrified he is of me dying from pregnancy and how supportive he is of alternative paths to motherhood.

3. I went to the SBCU (special baby care unit) at the hospital where Henry lived for 3 weeks after his premature birth. To say that I felt flooded with a million emotions as I walked down those same hallways, smelled the same carpet cleaner, saw the same nurses... well it would be a mega, mega understatement. It was INSANE. And the baby I was visiting... it broke my heart seeing him and his parents suffering through what Henry & I suffered through. And I was surprised that instead of making me want to get pregnant again, it made me want to avoid that again. And the surrogacy seed got planted deeper and deeper.

4. My husband and I are embarking on a 1-2 year period of mega money management which might include living with my brother for a year or two and paying him a small rent. The idea is to get every single stupid little financial duck in a row so taht every time we fly to England we don't suffer for it, so that we can buy a house, so that we can be free of credit debt, so we can build a savings.

5. So we can afford a surrogacy.

6. So one year from now, Henry will be 2.5 years old. And if in this next year we really do get our shit sorted out, then that is when I hope to start the official process of finding MS. BEST LADY IN THE UNIVERSE to carry my inconceivably amazing child into the world for me. Thank you in advance, MS. BEST LADY IN THE UNIVERSE, whoever you are.

7. Which means I have a whole year to figure out if I want to go independently or through an agency, to come up with real financial figures for it all, to lose weight and get my brain back into a happy place, to get my tubes tied and have time to grieve over it,  probably move in with my brother and get a new home and a new plan for our own home, and do a billion hours of continued research on surrogacy forums and websites.

She wanted to hear all about my story, she wanted to hear about surrogacy and adoption. "If you adopt, maybe you can ensure that you have a girl". I would love a girl of course, but gender isn't really the most important thing to me. Having a baby is.

And no matter what we do, adoption of surrogacy, we have to pretty much sell our souls to do it. I'm pretty sure we earn too much to qualify for any kind of assistance, not that there is much assistance out there anyway, but that doesn't mean we can afford it. It is a broad spectrum, depending on what happens in the moment, so it is hard to plan for a price. $15,000? $30,000? $45,000?

How do I put a cost on a baby? I see myself in 10 years never having had the third child I so desperately want, and I feel myself filled with resentment. That money was the thing keeping me from the family I desire. And yes I know that I should look on the bright side and be thankful for what I have on a level that negates my grief, but dammit... just dammit. Who the hell can do that?

So yes I'd love to adopt. Yes I'd adore to have a surrogate. But that is in my heart, and it turns out that when you are dealing with infertility of any kind - (because I'm not infertile of course, but what good is fertility if your body just kills the babies or tries to kill you? and by 'infertility' here I'm meaning an inability to carry a baby.) - your heart doesn't matter.

Nope, the heart doesn't matter at all. You can wish your babies alive all you want. Make yourself open to surrogacy til your face turns blue. Pray and try and wish for a million things, but none of that works. If it did, everyone would have babies.

Instead? We just stare at our wallets and make decisions about our families based on unnatural factors. Like money. Like half empty wallets.

Today I am feeling quite sad. Can you tell? 

And tonight I want my mother back. Tonight, I want my own flesh and blood baby to mirror what I've lost, I want to see more of her in a family that I've birthed myself. Tonight, I want to grow a piece of her memory, her charm, her fierceness... I want to incubate her genes and bring a life into the world to help compensate for how much the world lost when it lost her.

I am only 17 months into this, but so far I believe that grief does not get easier. The pain doesn't get better, it just becomes more sinister and insidious. If I am finding myself in the middle of an irrelevant argument, or at the end of a complicated and bad day, or if I've been upset about the kids or the husband or the moeny or the anything...  sometimes I gasp for air and think NO! Actually I'm not pissed off about anything except that I WANT MY MOM AND SHE IS DEAD. Sometimes everything is wrong, but only because one thing is wrong.

I want to talk to her. Should I adopt? Should we seek a surrogate? Should we give up the dream? Should we change the dream? Why aren't you here to guide me, and why am I left alone to decide these things I AM ONLY A CHILD.

This afternoon I sat on the floor with Henry. He was resting on his back and smiling up at me, playing peek-a-boo. And My brain did a little dance something like this:

You are such a gorgeous child.
I miss Coffee bean, Noodle, and Carbon.
They'd have been such beautiful children as well.
I miss my lost babies very much indeed.
And oh Henry, there you were.
If I had known then what I know now...
If I had known I'd almost die and you'd almost die...
If I had known I had a disorder that would guarantee complications...
If I had knows whY I kept losing my babies...
If I had known any of that, you would not exist.
The doctors would have told me what they've been telling me now.

And so? I instantly wanted to get pregnant. I am as fertile as a disgustingly fertile thing, it is just that I can't keep the babies alive. 5 pregnanices, 2 boys. And I started to get worked up about it. Upset that Henry wouldn't exist. Upset that it all went so wrong, especially after my first birth went so wrong. Upset that it could go right again. Upset that my OB said yes and my Dr said no. Upset that I killed three babies. Upset that my body fucking sucks.

But no..... the realization slowly dawned that I'm not really upset about any of that. Still sitting on the floor with Henry, these thoughts all came at me in a tidal wave fashion.  But no of course I'm upset about that... but not really... but yes really....

And then my brain slowed down, died a little, and the gate holding back my searing grief over the loss of my mom evaporated in an instant and i drowned. I positively drowned in anguished mourning.

She was dying in her bed at hospice. I was hugely pregnant. She was mostly unresponsive, could only communicate with slight movements and almost inaudible moans. I sat beside her bed that night, the last time I'd ever see her, and I placed her dying hand onto my stomach. Her deranged knuckles, blackened finger tips, cancer-ridden skin and bones. I lifted her unresponsive hand and tried with everything in me to remeber that moment. The last moment she'd ever be close to Henry, the closest he'd ever get to meeting her.

The day before when she was still lucid, she apologized to me. Sorry for dying, and I'm sorry you have to live without a mom now. I said that I knew she'd be there when Henry was born, and she promised me that she would be.

Of course we didn't know that he'd be born so soon thereafter. 15 days later a barrage of unthinkables occured simultaneously and Henry had to be here, right now. Thank you, HELLP syndrome.

The first thing I remember upon waking up is David holding his cell phone up and showing me a picture of Henry engulfed in tubes and wiring, telling me he was alive. I did not instantly bounce back, and I wasn't well enough to see him until very late the following day.

I was wheeled into the aisle of incubators. I asked where my son was, I was led to a tiny false-looking child held in a plastic box. And in that moment, a moment I'll never forget as long as I am alive and probably even through my afterlife, I felt two pounding emotions overcome me. I LOVE HIM SO MUCH and HI MOM.

She was there, I felt her. I knew it. And I half-joke to people sometimes that the two of them crossed paths in those 2 weeks.  That she lectured him and demanded that he be an easy-going child. That she arranged for him to be as simple as his older brother was complicated. That for 15 solid days she did nothing but hold him to her chest and loved him, until she had to let him go.

And I am absolutely desparate for that feeling right now, for anyshred of comfort or guidance or warmth. I want her to see everything that has happened since she has died, everything I have learned, and I want her to tell me what to do. I would probably ignore it of course, but that isn't the point. I want to hear it anyway., I want her to be here. I want her OH MY GOD I WANT HER.

And so tonight adoption looks grey to me, and surrogacy looks green. 

Am I selfish in wanting a genetic link?
Of course I am.

Am I misguided in thinking that giving birth to the blood line of my mother will help fill the mom-shaped hole in my heart?
Of course I am.  

Am I selfish for wanting another biological child when there are so many already-here children who need a home?
Of course I am.

Does any of that matter?

Tonight? No. My mother's death is so inextricably bound to the loss of my womb and the loss of my family dream and the near loss of Henry... how can I possibly separate it all? It seems quite normal for me to desire another chunk of Genetic Jane in my life. To see her reflection in a mischievous eye twinkle, to share her red hair with the world one more time, to reconnect to her in one final way.

I still want to adopt. In my heart of hearts, I truly believe that one day we will. But tonight? Oh Tonight you are a fickle bitch! Tonight has me searching one more time for a woman that I can adore, love, connect with and share, searching for a woman that can carry a little piece of my mother back into the world because I just can not. With my history - some of which I haven't even touched on - it is just too damned risky. I'm quite happy and willing to put my life on the line for another pregnancy, but I am not willing to take the risk of my two sons going through the inexcusable loss of a mother who purposely fucked around with death.

I want my mom. I want another baby. I see her in Philip every day. I see her in Henry every day. And if it is selfish for me to want to see her reflected in another child? Then I'm quite happy to be selfish. I've certainly been worse things in my time.  

What I have been crying about.
Reading heartbreaking account after heartbreaking account of adoptees who have been led astray by an adoption system, a company, or adoptive parents who couldn't respect their first families. Reading tale after tale of birth mothers (or first mothers or original mothers or I DON"T KNOW because every time I say a term I think 'no wait that is the insulting one' and I'm so overwhelmed sometimes that I'm absolutely tongue-tied). So much loss. Deception. Bitterness. Anger. Trying to look deep within myself and discover if I am a good enough mother to mother someone else's baby. I have two of my own, sprung out of my own uterus. But a child who was carried in another woman? There is a whole different level of responsibility there, and am I woman enough for it?

What my son thinks.
P (my 4 year old) randomly came up to me the other day and this is the conversation we had.
P: Mommy, can you tell me what adoption is again?
M: Well, adoption is when you bring a new baby or child into your family because their first family couldn't take care of them. Sometimes the baby doesn't even have parents because they died, or sometimes their mommy and daddy really just can't take care of them, and so people like us say "Hey, we have lots of love and lots of space so maybe we can help give someone a family"
P: And some babies are grown in bellies, right?
M: All babies are grown in bellies, but when you adopt a baby, they were grown in someone else's belly. If we adopted a baby, it wouldn't be inside of me.
P: Do you get sick when you adopt?
M: No honey, I only get sick when I'm pregnant. Thats why I can't get pregnant again, remember? So maybe one day we'll have another brother or sister for you, but someone else would be pregnant not me. And I wouldn't get sick.
P: I think we should adopt next week.
M: It takes a lot longer than that honey. And maybe it would be nice if our family just had two boys in it, maybe it is okay to just have a P and an H.
P: No. I want another baby. We should adopt.
M: Why do you want another baby?
P: I want to adopt another baby so I have an extra brother in case H dies.
M: *heart breaks open and spills all over the place*

What is on my mind.
I cry when I see photos of newborns. I am delaying an adoption process bcause I don't want to adopt simply out of mourning, or out of loss. I want to get through the worst of my grief and then decide if my heart is still in this place, if what I suspect (that we will adopt) is still true for us, if I still feel as strongly about it once I have distance from mom's death (ie wanting a replacement for her) and my own stupid body (coming to terms with the no more babies thing).

After my second miscarriage I more cautiously comforted myself with "Ok but remember. You have a kid. You can and will do this again."

After my third miscarriage I pseudo-comforted myself with "Well even if it isn't happenening now I know I can have babies so I will again one day."

After my second son was born prematurly due to our near death from HELLP syndrome I comforted myself with "Yes but now we can figure out why this is happening and even though we nearly died at least I can still make babies so surely we can have more."

Reality is setting in. Slowly but surely my reality has been setting in ever since my first miscarriage. Having had final comfirmation from my doctors that having another baby would be an extremely bad thing and probably kill either me or the baby... well, I guess I'm at a new point in my journey of loss.

This really, really is it. No more. My body fails. My uterus sucks. My blood can go to hell. It is now time to start burying my dreams. They are dying, as realistically most dreams do, and I need to bury them so I can move on. Create new dreams. Adjust my dream map. Reinvent what I'md reaming about.

But for now? Dead. My dream of giving birth to a little girl who would symbolize to me the reconnection of a mother/daughter bond that I lost when my own mother died of cancer while I was pregnant with H. My dream of naming a new baby girl after her. My dream of rubbing my pregnant belly, feeling the nesting syndrome, being special, looking special. My dream of another blue eyes curly haired looks-just-like-someone-else-in-the-family kind of child.

And I'm still trying to decide if my new dreams involve an adopted baby. A large part of my heart says yes of course, that is why I started this blog after all, but another large part is still just sad as hell and wants to kick and scream and throw a fit and say FUCK IT lets just get cats.

And maybe I continue to think about adoption simply as a way of allowing hope to keep up residence in me even though it really just needs a complete eviction. Or maybe I continue to think about adoption because even though it is a scary road to look down, deep in my heart I've always wanted to adopt and knew it was right for me.

Either way, the questions continue. Including those I found over here: http://transracial.adoptionblogs.com/

(I found that link because when I think of adopting I mainly envision an international adoption, though obviously that is up in the air. You know, like absolutely everything else.)

- What is my motivation to adopt a child?
- Am I prepared for the risks involved with domestic adoption or with international adoption?
- Can I financially afford to adopt and to raise a(nother) child?
- Am I willing to consider an open adoption? Why or why not?
- What age child do I want to adopt?
- Am I open to any special needs?
- Am I open to adopting siblings?
-Would I be supportive of my child is he chooses to search out his birth family later in life?
- Have a put a lot of research into carefully choosing an adoption agency?
- Do I know that the agency and program that I have chosen are ethical?
- Do I understand how children are identified for this adoption program?
- Do I understand the laws, rules and regulations of this adoption program?
- Why do I want to adopt transracially?
- What races am I open to (or not?) Why?
- Am I prepared to forever be a part of a multiracial family?
- Am I willing and prepared to deal with racism and to prepare and teach my children about racism?
- Do I value culture as an important part of a person's life or do I think it is not a big deal?
- Do I believe in being "color aware" or "color blind"?
- Do I believe that lighter is better?
- Can I handle being a highly visible family that often receives a lot of attention when out in public?
- Am I prepared to incorporate another race/culture into my family and into my life?
- Am I prepared to handle negative reactions from family and friends?
- Do I understand why transracial adoption is a last resort for children?
- Am I willing to fully embrace the blessings and challenges of raising a child of a different race?

Which is just as well, because tomorrow will be my third shift as a table clearer/ dish-washer/ drinks-runner (that's Mr. Honours Degree in Media Studies to you thank-you!) at a slightly-botty, suburban-housewife slash elderly hangout, but altogether pretty decent and friendly cafe in West-Vancouver. I'm generally pretty content at my new digs, and it has given me a purposeful cornerstone on my budding Vancouver life.

Despite a brief reflection that it seemed a few years ago that everyone I knew worked in some form of hospitality, and has now moved on, while I'm starting. I like it. It keeps me busy and on my feet and morale high. My co-workers seem like friends in the making, and I'm pretty good at my job.

The King of the County. Lord of the Manor.

It's better actually in a cafe, than shuffling paper in an office. I can see my difference. I can feel my impact. Shuffling files for a large multi-national finance company was harrowing in it's anonymity. I kind of like the hands on small arena, high impact thing.

I like to people watch - my favourite today was a meeting of two eighty-year olds who seemed very old-friends, and at one point were talking about the time that one of them had a run in with Nat King Cole.

My other favourite thing is to score my day as a musical with popular rock songs. See, when I got asked to use less hot-water - a stirring group-acapella version of the Libertines' "What a Waster" would have bought the house down. When I had to face my crippling fear of heights and slightly lacking coordination to change the highest light-bulb in the cafe (no harm came of me, apart from a case of the shakes and unknowingly showing my belly to customers), a moving solo run through of Tom Petty's "I Won't Back Down" gave the day an emotional backbone.

We do what we do to pass the time.

**********

Sometimes, Canada reminds me of New Zealand. In a roundabout way. I think it's the little brother mentality. (And yeah, they're not really helping this by hyping the Winter Olympics, my third favourite Olympics (behind the paralympics. Wheelchair basketball is awesome). It's two years away, and Vancouver 2010 is already etched on all the quarters.) Sometimes Canada feels like a bit of a b-list celebrity.  This is a country where not only is Matchbox Twenty still massive, they're big enough to have Alanis Morisette opening for them.

I had seen signs up for Canada's largest corporate conference at the same stadium where Bruce Springsteen will play soon. Thousands flocked to see three speakers: Andre Agassi, Martha Stewart, and Quincy Jones. Presumably to learn about a good forehand, corporate fraud, and to find out what it was really like in the studio when Michael Jackson cut Thriller.

What got me thinking about the similar mentality, was a slight furore over a comment Agassi made about the up-and-running but still very much under construction (see previous blog...) new highway up province to Whistler, insinuating that the highway was poorly thought out and unpleasant to drive on. I was reminded of the Jon Cleese "going to Palmerston North is a good encouragement to commit suicide" remark. The response felt the same, a strange mix of "I knew it! I knew it! We are shit!" desperation and "who the hell are you Mr. Fancy Pants Celebrity to criticise us" defensiveness.

I'd been in Toronto for about two seconds when I picked up a magazine with the headline "SHOCKING NEW FINDINGS: ARE WE REALLY AS TOLERANT AS WE THINK?" that painted Canadians as a gang of runaway KKK-lubbing bigots, when I've found Canadians to be an extremely open, sometimes overly rational and quite sensitive bunch. One time I saw a customer who was overacting on a tram by kicking the window get talked into line, rather than booted off the car. The tram driver just approached him, told him that he'd let him on without a valid transfer, and now he was making a fool out of him, and he didn't much appreciate it, and asked him to stop. And he did.

Things like that seem to unfold often here.

It always just reminded of New Zealand's whole habit of habitually emphasising crime statistics in the news, to try and paint crime as on the rise, when it's not. And I know that there's been some pretty savage outliers in the crime statistics recently - but crime as a percentage of news reported in New Zealand has shot up at the same time the crime rate has decreased. But anyway. Canada kind of does a similar thing. It's part "we have problems! we do!" and kind of part bad boy leather jacket edge, "yeah baby, we bad".

I think the fact that both countries have space for stories about kittens on the front page puts paid to that talk. You know?

**********

To end proceedings, a quick note. I was watching Gossip Girl to kill boredom while I waited for my O.C. to download (my credibility meanwhile, continued to skyrocket exponentially) and while I watched fourteen to seventeen year olds drink in bars, have casual sex, engage in supposedly earth shattering relationships and even discuss marriage and careers, I was hit by a thought.

While it's not like these characters are philosophy majors or anything, they're just not close to anything resembling a sixteen year old that could actually exist (I harbour this same criticism of Juno). In fact they kind of resemble someone maybe university age, maybe a recent graduate. Most of them look at least twenty (supposedly fifteen year-old Pacey and Dawson in Dawson's Creek looked at least twenty-five, which you'd imagine in a real school social situation would've seen them cast out on that alone) and talk with the poise of someone much older. I had no poise as a sixteen year-old. I probably still don't have any.

So why are all teenagers coming across like they are in their early twenties? And why then after we skip over the teenage high-school dramas do we go straight to Friends-esque, mid-to-late twenties, what-do-I-do-with-life melodrama? It just seems that the 18-to-25 age bracket is often missing from popular culture, especially television. Depections of kids using alcohol and drugs can be leaden down with morals, and you can have them learning to stay well away by the time they hit eighteen and the crazy college world. Shows such as Friends reveal straight-edge mid-twenties who occasionally indulge in a beer or two and often refer to their "crazy" college days. But why no inbetween? Would a show that depicted the realistic and legal enjoyment of alcoholic beverage and the occasional illegal substance with usually little real consequence be just too hard to handle? Maybe.

I'm question talking. I hate that.

Há um sonho que eu vejo, rezo para que possa ser
Procure atravessar a terra, sacudir esta terra
Um desejo ou um comando
Eu sonho que vejo, não mate isso, é grátis
Você é apenas um homem, você tem o que você pode

Todos nós fazemos o que podemos
Então, podemos fazer só mais uma coisa
Todos nós podemos ser livres
Talvez não com palavras
Talvez não com um olhar
Mas, com a sua mente

Ouça-me, não caminhe nessa rua
Há sempre um fim para isso
Venha e seja livre, você sabe quem eu sou
Somos apenas pessoas que vivem

Não temos nada
Então não temos nada a perder
Todos nós podemos ser livres
Talvez não com palavras
Talvez não com um olhar
Mas, com a sua mente

Você tem que escolher um desejo ou comando
Na virada da maré, é assolador
Lembre-se de uma coisa, o sonho você pode ver
Ore para ser, agite esta terra

Todos nós fazemos o que podemos
Então, podemos fazer só mais uma coisa
Não temos nada
Portanto, não temos nada a perder
Todos nós podemos ser livres
Talvez não com palavras
Talvez com um olhar
Mas, com a sua mente
Mas, com a sua mente

Cat Power - Maybe Not (tradução)

We can all be free
Maybe not in words
Maybe not with a look
But with your mind .

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