I drowned countless times in my own tears, sir. I rowed against and with the current so much that I no longer knew when I was going against or with it. I cast the anchor when it was time to depart; I departed when it was time to dock. I suffered from hunger and excesses, sir. I suffered from mirages and silences. I sailed towards the storms, always at the convenience of my tides. I invented pirates to plunder my treasures. I became a distant daughter of the constellations. I graduated in time as a sailor without ever learning to … Continue reading Drowned

I heard a woman say today that she felt like she was sinking further and further into a hole she couldn’t get out of. And I remember myself saying something similar. But as I was thinking about it today, I realized that maybe that’s not such a bad thing. If you feel like you’re already buried beneath the weight of the world, the hard part is already over. Life has already planted you in its garden. Now, you must learn the art of growing roots. Stretch your palms out into the darkness, grip onto it, strangle it, and take it … Continue reading November, 06 2013

It is fairly simple. Hate comes back as hate, love comes back as love. Life is a cycle that completes itself, shaped by the choices we make and how we allow circumstances to affect us. Each action, each emotion, sets off a ripple that returns to us, echoing the energy we put out into the world. When we choose hate, we invite darkness into our lives, a shadow that grows and returns to us, feeding on our negativity. It is a cycle of pain and suffering, perpetuated by our own choices. But when we choose love, we open ourselves to … Continue reading Circle

You mistake tolerance for acceptance, acceptance for apology, common sense for liberalism, civil duty as charity—all under the guise of some profound form of enlightenment. Yet my name, language, ethnicity, religion, and “culture” all become subject to your western fetishization. Somehow, for some reason, it’s still acceptable to portray the non-white individual as the “other,” as something to be fascinated by. As if fundamentally altering the course of our history, and ultimately our existence, wasn’t enough for you. Contrary to popular belief, we aren’t here for handouts, or charity, or for our plight to be acknowledged. We are more than … Continue reading We are more than Our Skin

Preenchia-se de vazios como quem tenta calar o eco de uma ausência. Era a falta que lhe oprimia o peito, uma ausência sem nome, sem rosto, mas com peso. Acompanhava-o como sombra, agravando-se durante as noites, quando o silêncio da cidade não conseguia abafar o barulho interno. Vivia para esquecer-se. Corria para evitar-se. O elevador vazio, o escritório cheio, a academia, o engarrafamento, as ansiedades, o almoço, o jantar, o medo e o olhar distante — tudo expediente para jamais encontrar-se consigo. Era um mestre em escapar, um fugitivo de si mesmo, urbano e solitário na selva de concreto. E … Continue reading Crônica: O Homem que Fugiu de Si

November, 2016 A daily fixture.A rhythm etched into pavement and heartbeats. I drove today through streets that once felt like mine—every corner a memory, every crack in the sidewalk a whisper of who I used to be. These were the streets I rode with laughter in my lungs. The streets I cried on when the world felt too heavy. The streets that led me to friends’ houses, to dreams, to heartbreaks, to hotdogs and Thursday night TV. That freedom—those carefree days—was paid in blood. Not just the blood of history, but the quiet sacrifices of growing up. Of letting go. … Continue reading New York Memories

When a man tells you he’s “not sure” about the relationship, it’s already over. He’s either working on someone new or too much of a coward to truly end things. A man who loves a woman will move mountains for her. Trust me, if he’s not fighting for you, he’s not the one. Pay attention to the stories he tells you. If he mentions a nice restaurant or a show, he didn’t go with a buddy or alone. And yes, most men look at porn. Frequently. Your tears should be his Kryptonite; if he doesn’t care when you cry, he’s … Continue reading Hard truths from the mouths of men…

Hoje, o Brasil se despede de Lô Borges, mas sua música permanece viva dentro de nós — como um girassol da cor do nosso cabelo, como um trem azul que nunca para de passar. Ele não era apenas um compositor. Era um arquiteto de sentimentos, um escultor de harmonias que moldou o coração da música brasileira. Desde aquele encontro mágico com Milton Nascimento nas escadas do Edifício Levy, nasceu uma amizade que transformaria a MPB para sempre. Juntos, criaram o Clube da Esquina, um movimento que misturou rock, jazz, bossa nova e os sons das montanhas mineiras em uma linguagem … Continue reading Adeus Lô …

Every night, as we lay our heads down to rest, we step into the unknown without any assurance of what the next morning holds. Yet, with unwavering faith, we set our alarms to wake up to a new day. This is hope—an enduring whisper within us, urging us to keep moving forward. Hope is that quiet voice inside, gently reminding us that there is always a reason to rise, to face whatever comes, and to believe in the promise of tomorrow. It is the courage to continue, to find light even in the darkest of nights. 🙏🏾❤️ ©️ Beatriz Esmer Continue reading Hope

When I die, I will return—not to rest, but to search. I will drift through the afterlife like a tide undone, seeking the instants I never lived near the sea. My soul will wander barefoot along forgotten shores, tracing the outline of memories that never came to be. Each wave will whisper to me, soft and persistent, telling stories of days I never touched, of sunrises I never watched dissolve into the ocean’s embrace. The salty breeze will carry echoes—fragments of laughter, the hush of twilight, the rhythm of a heart that longed for water. I will gather these moments … Continue reading When I die …