Once an avid, almost obsessive fan, I would even fight for my team. I played soccer until I was 18, earning the nickname “Maria Homem” from my friends. But this intense passion for soccer started to trouble me, especially after my last infatuation during the 1982 World Cup. I realized I didn’t want to become a fanatic fan. People asked why I wasn’t the fervent supporter I once was, arguing that soccer is a sport, sport is health, and health is vital. But my issue wasn’t with soccer itself. It was with the fundamentalist, fanatical, loud, and uncivilized fans who … Continue reading Why Do I Support for Corinthians?

Have you ever paused to ponder the paths we cross before we finally meet the ones we are meant to love or learn from? The idea of fate may not always sit well with us, but there is a certain intrigue in the notion that some people are destined to be a part of our lives. Perhaps we have brushed shoulders with them on a crowded street or shared a fleeting glance in a bustling café. Maybe we have stood beside them in a concert crowd or passed them on a winding mountain trail. These chance encounters may seem insignificant … Continue reading The art of encounter …

Desconfiada e incomodada pelo silêncio, ela se obrigava a distrair-se com as vozes incessantes vindas de dentro de si, que lhe diziam tudo, explicavam tanto, falavam demais sem resolver nada. O silêncio era uma angústia, pois ouvi-lo seria o mesmo que escutar-se. O medo era de que, ao ouvir, reconhecesse feiuras conhecidas e virtudes insuspeitadas: umas e outras, nunca bem-vindas desde a infância. O silêncio era uma liberdade inalcançável. A liberdade que dizia não conseguir. A liberdade evitada sem perceber que evitava. Bastava uma fresta dessa perteza e já começavam ansiedades e distrações. Ouvir-se seria ver-se. Ver-se seria sentir-se. E … Continue reading Leitura de Si Mesma

Pour into me and be my chlorophyll so when the light of truth shines on us the grass will be greener on this side of love. I want to be your leaves and to feel the breeze of your kiss, cooling rain drops of your love. We shall grow together, intertwined like vines reaching for the sun. Your roots will connect with mine, drawing strength and nourishment from the earth. You will pour into me, becoming my chlorophyll, breathing life, and vitality into my being. And when the light of truth shines upon us, the grass will be greener on … Continue reading Chlorophyll

The fear of being free provokes pride in being a slave, since we enjoy freedom it takes courage to risk the terrain of uncertainty and struggle. And so we have preferred to remain in the cave, proud of our shadows, as Dostoevsky said: “Cages are the place where certainties live.” However, with time we see ourselves and realize that what surrounds us is false, in such a way that we want to leave, run, fly away, being free. The big problem here is that when we get used to living in a cage, when we are not free, we lose … Continue reading Freedom

Baiana, born in Santo Amaro, Hilária Batista de Almeida, affectionately known as “Tia Ciata,” stands as a symbol of resistance and resilience of black culture in the post-abolition era. In the vibrant heart of Rio de Janeiro, her home became a sanctuary for samba musicians, a haven where the rhythmic pulse of African heritage found its beating heart. It was within the walls of Tia Ciata’s house that legends like Donga, Pixinguinha, Sinhô, and Heitor dos Prazeres gathered. These walls echoed with the melodies and harmonies that would come to define an entire genre, birthing the samba that would resonate … Continue reading Samba’s Day!

The disappointments will be endless, no matter where we are or who we are with. Forgiveness will be necessary, but only to the maximum extent of our dignity. We must strive to understand others, recognizing that they have their own stories, their own darkness, an inner struggle that remains hidden from us. Yet, the suffering of others cannot be allowed to linger within us long enough to cause harm. It is essential to offer help, but without taking on the storms that others create for themselves. In the tapestry of human relationships, we weave threads of compassion and understanding, each … Continue reading Life’s Complexities

Do not blame me for not knowing how to rhyme my verses, do not blame me for being a silly poet, for I am just an amateur, wandering among mental songs, poems, and immense passion. My lines are obtuse, crooked, but within them lies all my feeling—unheard-of and deep as the love I feel: restless, constant, like thunder inside me. In the realm of my thoughts, where melodies of the heart intertwine with poetic whispers, I find myself adrift in a sea of emotions. Each word, though imperfectly placed, carries the weight of my soul. My verses may lack the … Continue reading Don’t Blame Me

I am sitting here with a stomach full of a violent love, coarse and raw, scratching my throat on its way down. You can still taste the rust on my iron words as they escape, desperate for fresh air. I am sitting here with a stomach full of a merciless love, a shining golden love that will hurt if you stare too long, an indigo love that defies definition, a love of rainbows and clouds. My belly is raining different shades of passion, each drop a testament to the storm within. My love counts bodies. My love takes prisoners. My … Continue reading Violent Love

Manoel, a simple man, evoked sacrifice, hard work, pain, and punishment. My father defied the challenges of this difficult life, reshaping his name to be strong and voracious. He revered work, simplicity, and selflessness throughout his life. A naive soul, not tainted by malice, even though at times we couldn’t understand his contrite soul. In a rush, he ran to everything, he was his own impulse. Perhaps he was marked by an urgency he didn’t know. We never really know what drives us, but my father was driven by good deeds, analyzing now after years with my experience. He made … Continue reading Manoel