There were many days in that situation, frozen in a problem that seemed endless. Today, I can smile in the face of my weaknesses. Life still offers me this privilege: memories, both good and bad, that have taught me so much. Time passes almost invisibly, and all we can do is follow it, with no chance to turn back.

I believe each of us writes the book of our own life in a unique way. Our book holds stories of all kinds and becomes an opportunity for reflection for those who face ups and downs, like the sunny and rainy days I used to watch from the window. It records the path I have traveled, the choices I made. When stones fell upon me, I resisted and held on tight, even when it seemed my strength was at its limit. The countless times I thought about giving up serve as a reminder that life is made of moments of happiness and sadness.

There were times when I was just another passenger on life’s train, and others when I was at the front, guiding those who traveled with me. But one thing I am sure of: the true meaning lies in the simplest things. Feeling the wind on your face, the freshness of the sea breeze — these small moments bring peace and renewal to our days.

Life is like that sometimes, and information often arrives in the form of gossip. For some people, it doesn’t make a difference; they hear it, think it’s just someone else talking nonsense, and move on without giving it importance, without repeating or fueling the subject. However, for others, those words can leave deep marks, especially when they are lies that directly affect them.

At such moments, the mind can lose its way, and logical reasoning simply fails. Suddenly, we find ourselves acting without thinking, reacting in the heat of emotion. Other people, however, face the situation more firmly, keeping what was said to themselves, yet still feeling it stuck, as if something were caught in their throat. That suffocation creates a strong desire to respond, but inside, we end up suffering in silence, unable to find an immediate way out.

When we reflect on what has been said about us, it’s easy to remember the words that hurt, those that wounded so deeply that only time was able to soothe. And, in the end, time proves to be the best remedy, as it helps us understand that losing control or acting out of anger never brings positive results.

That’s why the secret is to take a deep breath and try to think before acting. If we manage to reflect twice, it’s always better; if we can think ten times, we can ensure the peace we so much seek. Inner peace, however, doesn’t always appear immediately, especially when we talk about actions that generate reactions. But time eventually shows that acts done with calmness and wisdom are the best path to happiness, both in the present and in the future, when memories return and help us understand what is truly important for our human growth.

The routine began with waking up for the first meal of the day: tapioca or bread. The food my mother made was always delicious; the seasonings weren’t the best, but the flavor was wonderful. Meanwhile, my mother also took care of the household chores and hummed hymns; the entire neighborhood could hear her expression of love for the Creator. Back then, I wasn’t particularly a fan of coffee, although nowadays I drink almost two bottles. I’ve always been a bit shy about poetry; I used to write verses hidden in my notebook. We are four siblings, and in that context, expenses were quite high since only my father worked. My grandmother and grandfather helped with practically everything; without their help, we would have gone through very difficult situations. I used to cover my school supplies using plastic bags and also reused leftover wrapping paper as an option to protect them. Depending on the color, to identify the book’s title, it was necessary to open it and check the subject on the back cover.

The neighbor liked to listen to Raul Seixas’s music. There were so many nights under the stars with “Gita — Raul Seixas,” I remember that well. The little house had a half-height wall with a small gate, a medium-sized purple pine nut tree, a closed water tank right at the first entrance; after the door, a concrete floor; in the kitchen, a red floor.

Zezo Potiguar was always very popular; when he passed through toward the North Zone, along the way through the Quintas neighborhood, they said the Prince of Keyboards lived there, very close to the intersection. I was surprised by all this—it was something new to me. Such good memories! My father loved listening to MPB albums; Djavan and Belchior were the favorites in our house. It’s a good feeling to remember all this; the teaching of sharing, whether little or much, prevailed in that environment. I suffered a lot for being disobedient, I didn’t always have everything I wanted, but there was always plenty of love.