Thursday, 16 January 2014

The Valuable Time of Maturity




















I counted my years and discovered that I have fewer years left to live compared to the time I have lived until now.

I feel like that kid who won a package of goodies: the first ate them eagerly, but when he perceived that there were few, he began to savour them deeply.

I have no time for endless meetings where discuss statutes, rules, procedures and regulations, knowing that it will not achieve anything.

I have no time to withstand ridiculous people who, despite their chronological age have not grown.

I don’t have time to deal with mediocrity.

I do not want to be in meetings where parade inflated egos.

I won’t tolerate manipulators and opportunists.

Bother me envious, seeking to discredit the most able, to usurp their places, talents and achievements.

I detest people who do not argue about content but titles.

My time is too precious to discuss titles.

I want the essence, my soul is in a hurry. Not many treats are left in the packet.

I want to live among human people, very human. People, who can laugh at their mistakes.
Who do not become full of themselves because of their triumphs.
Who do not consider themselves elite, before they have really become one.
Who do not run away from their responsibilities.
Who defend human dignity.
Who do not want anything else but to walk along with truth, righteousness, honesty and integrity.

The essential thing is what makes life worthwhile.

I want to surround myself with people who can touch the hearts of others.
People who despite the hard knockouts of life, grew up with a soft touch in their soul.

Yes, I am in a hurry. So that I can live with the intensity, which only maturity can give me.

I intend not to waste any of the treats I have left. I am sure they will be more exquisite compared to the ones I have eaten so far.

My goal is to reach the end satisfied and at peace with my loved ones and my conscience.

I hope yours is the same, because the end will come anyway…

Mário Raul de Morais Andrade


(Picture: The man, Odilon Redon)

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