How ridiculous is the world as I imagine it perfect

A wise old man once said that “the world would not necessarily be a better place if I changed it to what I understand as better”. When asked about perfection, this same old sage – ok, not that old, despite the white beard and prominent belly – suggested to a young disciple: “Imagine how horrible the world would be as you imagine it perfect.”

I remembered the words of this wise old man the other day, when I watched the scene of disintelligence between deputy Douglas Garcia and journalist Vera Magalhães. Or maybe you prefer a different synopsis: it was the heroic scene of a damsel in distress being saved from a monster’s clutches by an unlikely knight.

Synapse goes, synapse comes. When I find myself, I’m thinking about all the decisions we make just because we imagine, for ourselves and for our fellow human beings, a perfect world that needs to be imposed on others. A world of extremely subjective and idiosyncratic perfection. And more: how many of the words we write and the attitudes we take are not contaminated by the very irrational certainty that my will, once realized, will change the world (or at least that specific circumstance) for the better?

Douglas Garcia, for example, probably imagines a perfect world of his own. A world where there is no space for journalists like Vera Magalhães. Which, in turn, imagines a perfect world of her own, where there is no room for bolsonaristas and where toucans sing as if they were thrush.

Enter Emerson Royal

In addition to being subjective and idiosyncratic, this perfection that we imagine all the time and that influences our decisions has something ridiculous. And that’s where Emerson Royal comes in – a Brazilian player for Tottenham and an ace I’ve never heard of. In the world I imagine pathetically perfect, the right-back (I looked it up) scores a bicycle kick in the last minute of a Premier League final. After the match, however, and in front of that horizon of microphones, the player doesn’t want to talk about the result or his spectacular play. He wants to talk about the writer Javier Marías, who died on Sunday (11).

“I scored this goal in honor of him, who said that the life is a bad writer, chaotic and absurd”, says Royal, throwing the bow tie to the opposing crowd, who are defeated, but take home a great life lesson, etc. So it is. In the world as I imagine it to be perfect, ridiculously perfect, the bow tie is part of the uniform. You’ll understand!

Note that, although I knew who Javier Marías was, I never read anything about him. Just like I’ve never seen Emerson Royal play and if you show me a picture of him I doubt I’ll recognize him. But, for some reason, I think that the scene of a football player mourning the death of a writer serves as an example of that subjective, idiosyncratic and ridiculous perfection that we seek almost obsessively – and blindly. Although even I’m a little surprised by the random mix of Emerson Royal, Javier Marías and bow ties.

The Prodigal Son

Back to the altercation between the deputy and the journalist, just because I can and I want to, I imagined something along the same lines. Let’s say that Douglas Garcia preferred Paulo Mendes Campos and Vera Magalhães preferred Otto Lara Resende. Going further, let’s say there was a huge audience willing to follow the heated discussion about the best chronicler. Until someone comes along and decides to put an end to the debate: that guy from Gazeta!

Neither everything in the world as I imagine it to be perfect is ridiculous. In it there is also space for humor, contemplation, meekness and even righteous anger – which I don’t quite understand. In the world as I imagine it to be perfect, readers laugh at the self-deprecating humor that ended the previous paragraph. In the streetlights of the world as I imagine it to be perfect, there are loudspeakers from which the voice of Ella Fitzgerald singing “Blue Skies” eternally gushes out. In the world as I imagine it to be perfect, it makes no sense for us to waste Saturday talking about an ex-con who is running for president. In the world as I imagine it to be perfect, I am, at this very moment, writing not about a fight between a deputy and a journalist, but about the Parable of the Prodigal Son. Or discussing the idea of ​​righteous wrath in that passage where Jesus flogs the moneychangers in the temple.

In the world as I imagine it to be perfect, Emerson Royal plays in Coritiba. And, in the Club World Cup final, coincidentally against Tottenham (just because I like the name), he scores a bicycle goal, a free-kick, an own goal (!) and an Olympic goal, thus confirming Coxa as the most winning team in Everytime. Only in the world as I imagine it to be perfect.

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