Longa Vida …

Vida longa aos que, com suas singularidades, desafiam a monotonia do mundo. Aos que, com suas iluminâncias agudas, perturbam as sombras alheias, trazendo à tona verdades escondidas. Aos que, com inteligência afiada, desarmam convicções idiotas, abrindo caminho para o pensamento crítico e a reflexão profunda. Vida longa aos que ardem e incendeiam, que expulsam e perdoam, que arranham e acolhem com a mesma intensidade. Aos que, com sua presença vibrante, convidam à dança, ao abismo, ao amor, ao abraço e aos desequilíbrios, tornando a vida uma aventura constante. E vida longa, sobretudo, aos que se alongam na vida, que estendem … Continue reading Longa Vida …

The Role Of Writing

Ah, how mistaken are those who believe I write, my dearest ones. I merely conquer the silences of the paper through sheer persistence. I insist they tell me something, I pester them to declare what they know. I intimidate with sharp accents and cutting words. And because they cannot say anything beyond what they have told me, because they cannot denounce me for threats or falsehoods, I affix my signature below. I appropriate what is not mine. You see, I would not know how to speak of such beautiful things, lies I have never used, or truths that never belonged … Continue reading The Role Of Writing

The Wisdom of the River and the Freedom of Love

Accept it, my child, the inevitable course of the river to the sea and bless the spring, even if the entire river is lost at its mouth. Allow love to also cry its fears. Thus is the wisdom of never damming life within ourselves… In each drop that flows down the stream, there is a story, a dream, a hope. The river, in its relentless journey, teaches us to accept the flow of life, to understand that every beginning, no matter how humble, carries within it the promise of a grand destiny. The spring, with its purity and strength, deserves … Continue reading The Wisdom of the River and the Freedom of Love

The Art of Love

I am no authority on anything that I am about to tell you. I am simply writing from my heart something that I believe your heart should read. There is no right and wrong way to love. We are all born different, even though we all possess the same genetic code, but that does not mean we all need to love in the same way. There is nothing in the world that should make you feel insecure about your ability to love. Because there is no formula for love! That is the very reason why some of us are dog … Continue reading The Art of Love

Messianism & Hypocrisy: A Chronicle of Contradictions

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

Chronicle of the Unnamed Tremor

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

Impermanence

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

Farewell

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

Surrender and Poetry

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 Não Se Toca

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