There is a peculiar irony in the age of global idealism. We are told—by politicians, spiritual leaders, influencers, and self-proclaimed visionaries—that coexistence among radically different cultures is not only possible, but inevitable. Yet, the same voices falter when faced with the intimacy of everyday life. They preach harmony across continents but cannot navigate the friction between neighbors, parents, spouses. The grand narrative collapses at the doorstep. This is the paradox of modern messianism: a doctrine that demands love for mankind while ignoring the difficulty of loving those who are near. The neighbor is too real, too flawed, too inconvenient. Humanity, … Continue reading Messianism & Hypocrisy: A Chronicle of Contradictions

There is no name for what I’m feeling. No word has ever dared to hold it. No metaphor has ever survived its depth. To call it yearning would be like calling the ocean water—technically true, but spiritually insufficient. This feeling is not a thirst; it is the sea itself. It is not longing; it is the tectonic shift beneath the longing. Whatever this thing is, it doesn’t knock politely. It shoves you inside itself, like a wave swallowing a ship, and suddenly you are somewhere else. You try to measure its boundaries, but they stretch too far, and you don’t … Continue reading Chronicle of the Unnamed Tremor

The leather covering my flesh has no plan. It is a mere vessel, a transient shell that houses my essence. Each crease and scar tells a story, but none of them are permanent. They are fleeting imprints of moments that have come and gone, like whispers in the wind. I walk through life knowing that everything is temporary. The joys, the sorrows, the triumphs, and the failures—all are but passing phases in the grand tapestry of existence. This realization brings a strange comfort, a liberation from the chains of permanence. It allows me to embrace the present with open arms, … Continue reading Impermanence

Every day is a back-and-forth, a rhythmic dance of arrivals and departures. Life, like the train station, is a place of constant motion and repetition. Here, the platform is a stage where stories unfold, where people come to stay, their presence a comforting constant. Others, like fleeting shadows, will never go, their essence lingering in the air. There are those who yearn to return, drawn by the magnetic pull of memories and familiar faces. Some find solace in staying, their hearts anchored to the station’s pulse. Others come merely to observe, their eyes capturing moments like photographs, their hearts untouched … Continue reading Farewell

Just as the sunflower surrenders to the sun, nurtured by its golden embrace; just as lips yield to a kiss, touching the heavens of the mouth and heart; or like a letter destined for awaited eyes, the boat surrenders to the ocean, letting itself be carried by the whims of the wind and tides. Unspoken words find their path and way to confess, to say that tomorrow is a certain risk worth investing in the sweetness of meeting, in the warmth of plans, in the sum of togetherness. Surrender is this: the ringing of bells, butterflies in the stomach, a … Continue reading Surrender and Poetry

Domingo tem cheiro de café coado com calma. Tem o sol entrando pela fresta da cortina como quem pede licença para iluminar sem pressa. É o dia em que o mundo parece suspenso, como se o tempo tivesse tirado folga e deixado a gente brincar de esquecer. Hoje é domingo, e eu decidi que não vou sofrer. Não por teimosia, mas por escolha. A tristeza bateu à porta cedo, como sempre faz, mas encontrou um bilhete colado na maçaneta: “Volte amanhã.” Saudade tentou se esgueirar pela janela, mas eu já tinha fechado todas. Domingo não é dia de visita indesejada. … Continue reading Domingo Não Se Toca

There was a time when I lived in compartments—peace in one hand, war in the other. My days were measured by the sun’s rise and fall, my seasons by the tilt of the earth. Silence was my refuge, pain my companion, and death a distant shadow I dared not name. Then love arrived—not gently, not politely. It came like a tempest, ravenous and relentless. It consumed everything: my certainties, my contradictions, my quiet corners. It devoured my winter’s frost and my summer’s blaze, my sleepless nights and my tranquil dawns. Even my fear—so carefully preserved—was swallowed whole. Yet in this … Continue reading Chronicle of the Unbound Heart

Cup your hands around the emptiness, feeling its weight and texture. Let it seep into your being, becoming a part of you. Embrace the void, fall into it with grace, and let it shape you like clay in the hands of an artist. Light candles to guide your way, lanterns to illuminate your path, matches and campfires to warm your soul. Follow the light, let it fill you, until you are brimming with its brilliance. Let the darkness within you collapse, giving birth to something new and radiant. Growing up is a journey of acceptance, of finding comfort in the … Continue reading Embracing the Void

I love those who offer their presence with gentleness, like opening windows to let the sunlight in. Those who respect time and space, moving in harmony with life, knowing it is shaped by meetings and farewells. I admire those who live with humility and courage, facing challenges with transparency. People who recognize their limits without losing faith in life’s magic, who teach without arrogance and reveal themselves without fear. I’m enchanted by those who take responsibility for their mistakes, who reinvent themselves with hope and forgive with tenderness. People who speak of their passions with calm and conviction, never needing … Continue reading The Beauty of Small Things

Non so se ho veramente trovato una risposta. Continuo a pensare – e ne ho conferme quotidiane – che è inutile sforzarsi di essere “altro” rispetto a quello che si è. È inutile illudersi di essere migliori, più forti, più intelligenti, più sensibili, meno egoisti, meno fragili e via dicendo. La verità è lì, sempre presente, a ricordarci che, a forza di fingere o di mentire, non solo agli altri, ma anche a noi stessi, si finisce col “perdersi di vista”. Come diceva Jacques Lacan, la verità di ognuno di noi emerge proprio nel momento in cui “balbettiamo” e la … Continue reading Verità e Imperfezioni