Hey, it's been a while…

Last time I was here...I was stuck inside myself, trapped. I was leading a life that didn't align with my essence, and I'm only able to begin to see it now.

Because i went to a land far away and something clicked for me as I was able to feel so much at home in such a strange place. To feel so comfortable being uncomfortable. and i wasn't worried about being internal or external. There were no barriers, no walls, everything went together.

You see, i've always been a nomad. Grew up moving around. And I neglected that for a while. I would think "if i could just stay...”

But i learned that staying is not my thing, moving is! Because when I move, i observe, i empathize, i see myself and i am no longer trapped, i'm free and that's who i've always been, who i was neglecting.

When we compare our lives to others, we wish for things that are not for us. What i thought of as stability is actually a source of conflict for me.

To me, now,  stability is movement and I feel more secure with packed bags than with a permanent closet.


Life is a constant battle between balancing what's going on inside and what's is going on outside.

I spend most of my days inward, it's my favorite place to be. I love exploring who i am, but to be honest i find it quite hard to do that and be around other people at the same time. Because suddenly it's not just about what's going on inside my body anymore, it's also about all of the other bodies around me, all of that individual energy becoming one.

It's overwhelming.

Whenever i feel cloudy and emotionally confused i want to investigate my mind, however i forget that I still have to interact, that the external world doesn't stop just because i'm paying more attention to what's within.

So, I wonder…

Can they tell? Can the outside tell when i'm spending significant time internally?

I believe being aware of both inside and outside is key to equilibrium, but sometimes i just want to go in so deep that i find myself neglecting the outer sphere. After all, my energy is still powerful whether i'm aware of it or not. I wonder how am i like when i'm not paying attention.

I wonder.


Rhythm, we each have our own way of flowing.

But we live in a society that wants us all to fit into one pace. One specific velocity. And that adds unnecessary pressure to fit into a mold.

However, time cannot be put in a box. I want to follow my own beat. Each of us are unique songs with unique tempos and strumming patterns. How can i ever be your song? I am my own.

I've been feeling so pressured to be at other people's speed, as though if I don't adjust myself to match them I will lose the relationship or opportunity.

But, to take my time to notice my own notes, my own steps and my way of flowing is a form of self love. It's how I can respect myself, and how I can start to respect other people's pulse.

To respect is to listen to other people's music. To appreciate it and not demand them to adjust it.

So, Listen to your own sound. I know it's lovely.


There's a overwhelming and strange feeling on my chest. It feels someone is trying to tell me something. Trying to get my attention, to ground me, remind me of something important.

Except i can't tell who it's from, maybe this message comes from me. Maybe it's my intuition screaming as loud as it can because I seem to forget a great deal of things. I constantly doubt myself and seek approval because i forget my worth.

But i feel like a leaf that has turned yellow and now it doesn't know what to do because it doesn't fit the green live leaves. This is not my place and i tried so hard to make it mine. I'm still as lost as in 2016, I'm still foreign in my own country, outside of my country, anywhere. Foreign.

Part of me knows it will always be this way. I just want to drop everything and come home, if I knew where that was. I am more sensitive to time because the more days pass by here the more I feel in limbo instead of adapting.

So, where is this message coming from? Is this what it is? The feeling of not knowing, the feeling of constantly looking for a home and never really finding it.

perhaps just traveling and traveling and never really arriving.


I gotta be honest here.

I have always tried to fit into a group, to blend in and be alike, but the older I get the more I realize that my life is not about others, it's about how i move through the world.

The colors i see and the breeze that i feel, the goosebumps, and butterflies. Those little moments which are only mine. When i’m in solitude every sensation is heightened and i feel the most alive.

I am made of journeys, pathways and roads. I am what I encounter. I am how my body reacts, how my mind thinks and the invisible feelings i get.

However, instead of being present for those feelings, sights and encounters I find myself sharing with others just so I can fit in.

And in a world where we learned to share before we experience, where we tell before we feel i find myself pursuing privacy. To be private means to share it with yourself first. Your body, your thoughts, your mind are the first filter and we should allow time for processing, time for living.

For what is the use of life if I spend it sharing instead of living?

And i'll take those moments, those slices of life and i wanna carry stories inside me that people i love the most can never hear.


i made a decision to really open up, to be as authentic as i could so that i could emanate all that i am. No pretending, at least not on purpose.

However, when you are so committed to being so undeniably yourself, it's like you have been stripped naked, extremely vulnerable to anyone.

You see, in order to be committed and authentic you have to trust those around you, trust they will respect you and not invade you or your space. You have to trust that they won't violate your body and mind.

Unfortunately people don't see things clearly, and we do get violated, we do get disrespected and it's tough because although vulnerability is strength it can also open up space to be taken advantage of.

And even though I feel like closing myself up again, to put a wall high up the sky, I owe it to myself to continue.

I do see things a bit differently now and I might have to select carefully the people i trust, now more than ever. The people that get to really see me.

but I will keep fighting to remain open, to remain me.


sometimes things just fall into place. For a little while things are good.

And part of me is afraid because i know it's not going to last forever, nothing does, but it's interesting because it feels like the bad things never end, and the good things are as quick as lightning.

I'm learning that the good times and the bad times are just like waves, a never ending flow going high and crashing down.

However it feels like crashing down takes longer, like the high part will never come and when it does i question it instead of accepting both sides of what life has given me.

Maybe with every crashing wave i'm supposed to learn the pattern, get better at processing and not only focus on the low but enjoy the high.

And our bodies are meant to surf these waves, to adapt into these twists and turns life throws at us.

So you and I...we can take it. We are the powerful ocean.

And as this year is starting to end and I notice all of the highs and all of the lows, I look around and I see so many incredible people i'm surrounded by and I think: sometimes things just fall into place.

whole piece

I used to think being alone meant being whole.

But this week i noticed the people around me and i understood that being alone didn't make me whole, in fact, it just meant being alone is what I was used to—and that version of me, that i got so attached to, got me confusing it with being whole.

You know, i can clearly see the exchange of energy when I'm around others and that connection used to make me exhausted uncomfortable, because it feels like im dissolving into other bodies and minds, like i'm fading whenever i connect, but now..

i'm excited to observe an unseen side of me, a side of me that is brought out through this connection. Maybe i'm not fading at all, i am becoming a better version of me.

Don't get me wrong, it still hurts to see a piece of me going away with each interaction, but at the same time i get a piece back from a dear friend.

So, thank you for the interactions and for taking a piece of me and giving me one of yours.


lately i've been feeling extremely banal to earth, to life, to work, to relationships. insecure.

we have come up with this weird concept that we're special, exceptional even. So we're living our days with the pressure of accomplishing something extraordinary everyday in an effort to prove how original and purposeful our lives are.

And this pressure gives me an undeniable fear that i'll lose everything if i'm not living that incredible life standard we set. it puts me in this state of constant doubt because the world can go on without me.

So then, I overcompensate. trying to make up for it by going overboard to please others. so that I won't be "dropped".

These days it's hard to simply live your life, hard to sit still. To understand I won't deliver meaningful work every day. That in fact, I am not essential, special, extraordinary or even remarkable.

What i am is an expression of life.

I don't know. Maybe what's special about us is that we are not special at all and some things are important because they have no purpose



Ah, língua que me criou, língua que rejeitei.

Rejeitei porque foi difícil ouvir certas palavras, em certos contextos. Senti que se tinha alguma chance de escape—de me conhecer e sobreviver, eu tinha que te deixar.

A língua ela é cultura, ela é identidade. Eu cresci sem nenhuma. Senti que meu português foi vazio. Quando eu comecei meu affair com o inglês, foi porque me deu uma sensação de liberdade de descobrir por mim mesma minha identidade.

Sensações nos enganam, sabe?

Porque por mais que outra língua me permitisse toda essa descoberta. Ela ainda continua segunda lingua. E a primeira? Minha essência inexplorada, minha identidade guardada e uma cultura desconhecida.

Eu sentia falta. Sentia saudades do brasileiro, do português, do que estava distante mas mesmo assim dentro da minha alma. Onde eu sabia que era parte mas não me reconhecia nas palavras.

Agora estou aqui. Numa luta interna entre dois mundos, e de certa forma duas identidades.

Mas fazer isso aqui em português, me deixa muito contente. Estou me re conhecendo e reformando minha identidade neste português que evitei por tanto tempo.

Afinal, a vida é um ciclo de observar, aprender, conhecer e reconhecer, re observar e reaprender a minha lingua


I'm a mess.

As I see boxes, bags and all of my stuff everywhere I notice that I carry so much baggage with me. The people i've met, the places I've lived, the emotions i've felt. Each time, i become more and more a mixture of things, a mess

I look at this square of an apartment. There was so much crying, laughing, tension and was my first home in my real home.

You see, the best way to describe most of my past years is with a blink of an eye. Each blink a new place. And when you move so much it really feels like you don't belong to either.

It gets messy answering questions like "where are you from?" and "where do you live?" And as I heard each question not knowing the answers myself, I just I dreamed of a little* small little place, a place where i could stay.

So, i did. I moved into that small little place and it meant I successfully started over. At home. My home. It meant I could finally let my guard down, breathe and just, stay.

And the baggage, both emotional and physical that I carry just means I am finally beginning to grow roots. Oh, and my roots are so many places, my roots are each of you.

This little mess I carry, this little mess I am just means I am finally unpacking.

exchange of thoughts across the world

A little introduction: I've been making video essays of what I write here weekly. This past week I've collaborated with my dear friend Kristen Ocean where we both answered 5 questions and had the answers guide us into an essay that is also a conversation between two friends who live in completely different countries. All in bold are Kristen's thoughts and the rest are mine. Video at the end. Enjoy!

A conversation - something I would define as being an exchange of ideas. it's between two sides.

I find myself replying to my own thoughts: "just allow yourself"

I’ve been having a conversation in my mind, and it started with this idea: “You can do better. You can always do more.” But then something jumped in to defend me, suggesting, “What if you are already enough?”

I have been so trapped by limitations I've created, where I'm not worthy, and like I should hide myself in order to avoid being seen.

Who am I talking to? who am I defending myself from? This marks the clear division in my thinking, or perhaps duality of my nature.

I'm not allowing myself to fall.

And it’s from here that the push-pull began.

And I can't get rid of the thought in my head: "So, where would I fall exactly?" How calculated do I have to be to plan where I fall? But, this calculation comes from feeling unsafe.

I feel safe here. But I don’t feel safe now. The lines easily become hazy between what is "here" and what is "now", as the relationship between time and space become blurred.

Where I look out the window and see chaos. I hear screams and gunshots I cannot allow it.

Isn’t time just a form of mental space? I could stay here, in this room all day, and my illusion of safety will waver. But I am find safety somewhere in the climate of my mind.

I need to plan things out. I need to act a certain way, respond a certain way. It feels like it's a risk to just exist.

In my first waking moments I am suspended in a blissful unawareness, untethered to this time and space, free of thought subject to contradiction, which seems to be all I can find anymore.

You know, tonight I actually fell asleep, first time in weeks, and when I woke up I saw my monstera and she had a new leaf.

They always talk about "coming to your senses". But doesn’t it make more sense that we begin in our senses, and we come to our thoughts? I am able to find peace here, somewhere.

A new leaf, a new day.

I can find safety both here and now, but without my awareness to either. I do eventually come to my thoughts, which gives a platform for this conversation.

Where will I fall?

Black converses with white. The "Yes" converses with "no". Can I be more? Yes. Am I enough?Yes.

Where will I fall? Anywhere and everywhere.

sunny days

I used to hate sunny days.

How dare the world look bright and shinny when inside i'm all shadows. This set doesn't go with my internal story.

But something changed. As I sit on this table, with my coffee and a flower that fell down right where I'm standing, I feel warm.

My thinking starts shifting, how dare I not be bright and shinny? How can I not reflect this? Perhaps I should open my eyes so that the light could really come in.

Yet, I feel tingling. I feel nervous because depression can be so addicting. I grew attached to it, and it's hard to let go. Only because it feels like the other side is unknown.

And you know how it goes, we fear what we do not know.

But light is never a bad thing. When we are able to see things clearly we become more aware. I should embrace this because it will show parts of myself I've been avoiding. Parts that I shamed, hated and judged.

Today i see a pink sky. I realize I'm not well. But I do feel better.

One step at a time.

round and round and

Wondering why I come back in circles, roaming and roaming in the same pattern. For years I've been presented with an opportunity to learn from change.

However, for years I have given into my illusion. Trying to make a conclusion.

Round and round I go, surprised each time as if I were circling somewhere new. Nothing is new, my darling. It's quite obvious how it's the same.

At least this time I recognize it is a circle, it is a form I've been accustomed to move. Perhaps this is the entry way towards what I'm supposed to learn here.

Even though it appears to be quite silly to be going over and over and over and over the same way which leads, seemingly nowhere—I'm sure it is taking me somewhere. Somewhere I will finally step out of the loop, stronger than ever.

Then I will enter another circle, and I will go round and round and round and round.

Until I learn the next lesson.

Thank you, life.


These strings in which I touch and this voice I emanate brings me back to sobriety, while eternalizing this version of myself.

Drunk in the illusion I believe every uninvestigated thought. I go in too deep and I fade away.

I scroll through a screen looking for another human. I don't want to feel alone. As soon as I am back to my guitar, I hear peace through the instrument. I am one and I make music flow. My voice trembles, my hands shake but the music brings me back to sobriety.

There are many versions of myself. This instrument I love so dearly has eternalized each. It does it in such a wonderful way as to validate that time and at the same time let go of it.

It's difficult to remind yourself that you are not one thing. You are many things. I've learned to grasp for the absolute, but what an illusion to be only one thing.

My music embraces the multidimensionality I carry in me. It brings me back to the essential and takes me to the invisible realm of emotions.

I'm eternally grateful for that day I skipped piano lessons and spied through the window of a guitar class. I saw that guitar and I knew it was the partner I needed.

With this instrument I have found peace, laughter, immense comprehension.

And when you hear me sing and tell me my voice is as velvet and the strings are angelic, know it contains all of the depression, the sadness, the gratitude and the happiness in me. It contains all versions.

i forgot

It’s been so long since I’ve seen you that I forgot what you look like. The ocean wave crashes down. I follow the edge of his nose. I make my way down to his forehead with a scar right in the middle. The mind bridges the gaps with stories. He is a story. I am a story. We read each other and still, I forgot what he looks like.

My mind is frustrated for it does no't know when the beginning starts and when the end is, however, the in-betweens are vivid as the sound of my breath. Unreachable with a misconception of closeness.

These fragments shouldn't bother me, perhaps it's time to let go of these stories. And if there are no stories: there's nothing to forget.

it's autumn and all leaves must fall

I see you.

But what I really hear is your voice telling me the worst of misfortunes, and I feel you looking at me but I won't dare to look back, because I know the moment our eyes meet it will make it real. Even though I fight not to, our eyes meet, the sadness and misfortunes unite us and for a moment I'm not alone. The air is heavy tonight, but we are light.

I realize I have to go. There are new things for me to process, and my motherland is waiting for me to rediscover myself, but I don't ever want to leave you. You tell me to stay, so I stay a little longer. I linger in your presence and nothing matters. We hold hands, look at the crashing waves that seem to disappear as the last ray of sun is going down and the skies are getting extremely blue. I feel the warmth of summer, the end of summer. I can't describe this feeling, it's a mixture of everything.

Then, I leave. alone.

I carry you with me for as long as I can. But you have become a yellow leaf and I have to let you go along with autumn.

Oh spring, won't you save us? Let us bloom, because my heart aches. It misses you. It misses autumn.


Picture your typical cubicle office. Then add a bunch of publicists. It's an ad agency. It's booming and everyone looks so busy under the fluorescent light bulbs that give us no sense of what is going on outside--is it sunny? rainy? Is it night time? Who knows.

The mind rambles as the fingers start to type…

Ok. Let's just start writing and writing so people think you're doing something that matters.

Don't you love the sound of a keyboard? It means busy, successful and overall doing something and not just laying around doing fucking nothing.

Nothing is what I feel right now can't feel a thing can't recognize myself.

that person inside me that is trapped behind many unimportant things hoping to be accepted and confident to come out and take over this carcass of a body.

Let me keep typing keep writing keep staring at this screen I want to look like I am doing something like I am something.

something to be proud of a friend of.

I am quick and fast i finish things and get them done and then i stare at this blank screen.

look around i should be busy i should be doing something.

god forbid I am sitting alone without a phone god forbid I am not typing, typing typing typin typ ty t t t t t t t t t t t t t t.

the noise that makes me think I can pull it off I can fake it I can try to grasp any trace of identity.

identity based off of how others see me because I don't see a thing I don't feel a thing i don't know a thing.

grew up convinced I knew what to do convinced I am special convinced things were black and white.

but then who is this person I feel slipping away? this human designed by a religious community who manipulates but says it loves who worships the invisible but does not accept the very visible homeless out on the street.

grew up knowing i should be busy so others wouldn't ditch me how can you be rejected if you’re the one who is not available.

not available i am not to myself.

beyond my window

The moon is staring at me. I am sitting on my bed and I feel its eyes fixated upon me. I look out my window, make eye contact and feel cold. I look at my fingers, legs, and feet. I am pieces. Pieces of places I’ve been and people I’ve met. And to every piece I gain, I lose one as well. I give it away. It makes me question: Am I a little bit of everything or a whole lot of nothing?

I remember when my dad was driving us home late at night while my mom and sister were asleep. I was so tired I couldn’t keep my eyes open, but looking at my dad driving all alone, I couldn’t let him be the only one awake. I had to stay up. Even though I didn’t say a word, I liked knowing I was there for him. Looking at the car window I could see the road moving through the headlights in plain darkness. I turned my head and tried to see it from different angles. At one point, I realized that no matter what funny pose, or head turns I tried, the moon was always static. It simply stayed.

Windows fascinate me. They are frames, and by simply tilting my head and moving my body I could come up with my own picture. I recall every single window I’ve ever had. I’ve had tall windows, square windows, round windows, the list goes on. The first thing I notice when arriving at a new house is the bedroom window. I like to see what picture it has for me, maybe the picture it framed was there to remind me of where I wasn’t. Or to show me my reflection. And the idea that I could fit the whole universe into one square didn't leave me so overwhelmed. You see, windows help us make sense of things. They are our frame of reference.

I grew up moving around and after relocating so many times I developed a habit of staring at the moon on my first and last night at a house. On the last night, I look out till the moon is so high; the window can no longer frame it. Then I just know that where I am no longer makes sense, when it stops feeling like home.

These last nights in all of the rooms I lived in felt cold. And I just knew my time there was over, although it didn't mean I was ready for it. I don't think we are ever really ready to leave a piece of us.

I've never been good at goodbyes, even though I had a lot of practice. But I've never been good at hellos either. All I feel is a piece of me leaving and a foreign piece attaching, I am very aware of this exchange. Every “hello” means another piece stripped out of my skin leaving me in the cold. Leaving me less of myself and more of someone else.

Soon we all become a newly painted and empty room. From window to window we are the observer. Living in so many places has made me realize we are everything therefore we are nothing. That the pieces we leave are an addition to someone else's frame of reference, and each piece we get makes us evolve into beautiful complex humans.

The moon is starring at me. I try not to make eye contact but I can’t help it. It feels cold. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and look at my window. The moon is gone. Out of sight. It’s too high for my window to frame it. And again, I know it’s time to say goodbye.