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    quinta-feira, 16 de janeiro de 2025

    To my daughter Melanie (January 2024)

     01/01 Chapter 357: My way home is through you

    Today was New Year’s Eve. We woke up at the apartment and waited for your dad to arrive before heading to my parents' house. We got there fairly early, considering the day.

    We had made plans with Camille and her family to meet at 4:00 PM, but I suspected I’d be a little late, so I asked if 5:00 PM would work instead, and we agreed on that. Funny enough, we ended up arriving at 4:00 PM anyway, but Camille’s family didn’t get there until around 7:00 or 7:30.

    I had bought some goodies, lots of nuts like my dad prepares at Christmas, and spent quite a bit of money on them. Brazil nuts, walnuts, chocolate-covered almonds, smoked almonds—and I even got Parmesan cheese chips, which we missed at Christmas. Everyone loved them. Who wouldn’t? Camille brought pistachios, and just as I expected, once she started eating them, she couldn’t stop. Thanks to me, another person got hooked on pistachios! But I warned her not to get too used to it—pistachios are fancy and expensive, a treat I usually only indulge in at Christmas. During the rest of the year, I settle for pistachio-flavored ice cream or chocolate, but it’s not quite the same. It’s like two completely different things.

    We chatted the night away, and the time just flew by. My godmother, Aunt Cuca, helped with the cooking. She made her famous gratin potatoes from Christmas and stuffed chicken. Camila brought a tender, but her version was different from my mom’s California-style tender with fruit. Hers was savory, buttered, and right up my alley.

    Then came the drama. Your dad suddenly shouted from the kitchen, and I immediately knew something was wrong. He showed me the chicken I’d left out of the fridge. Despite being covered in aluminum foil, ants had invaded it! The chicken was crawling with them. I called Camila for backup, and we decided to salvage it. No way were we wasting such delicious chicken. Thankfully, the ants were only on the top layer, where the cheese was, so I carefully removed them. It took a bit of effort, and I could still feel tiny ants crawling on me afterward, but at least our food was saved.

    We heated up the dishes, and I prepared my almond rice, but it was a disaster. Since I was making a large batch for everyone, I wasn’t sure about the water ratio. The rice turned out mushy at first and then completely dried out. It was edible but far from the fluffy, delicious rice it was made at Christmas. I’ve come to accept the harsh truth: I’m a terrible cook. Like it or not, some truths just need to be faced.

    Later, you were in a terrible mood. The only solution was to put you to bed early since you hadn’t napped all day. You fell asleep at 9:00 PM, which made me a bit uneasy. Ideally, you’d sleep after 9:40 PM to avoid waking up in the middle of the night. But I put you to bed in the living room to keep an eye on you, closed the doors, and we sat down to dinner just before midnight. We had to eat quickly, though, because midnight was fast approaching. Once we finished, we went outside to pop champagne and wish each other a Happy New Year.

    Afterward, I kissed you gently and whispered, “Happy New Year, my love.” This was our third New Year’s Eve together, and each one only makes me happier to have you by my side. Wherever I am, you’re my home. You always will be. Or at least my way home is through you.

    My parents had wanted to take you to the beach to spend New Year’s with them and your cousin, but I couldn’t agree to that. New Year’s wouldn’t be the same without you, even if you were just sleeping through it. We settled on letting you visit Caraguá later this month on a non-holiday trip.

    We spent the night playing games. One of our favorites was the auction game. A few weeks ago, Camila collected money from everyone, bought prizes, wrapped them, and handed out fake money. We bid on each prize she revealed, and the highest bidder won. Sometimes it was something cool and unique; other times, it was a joke prize, like instant noodles. That’s the fun of it.

    We also played COUP, a clever, strategic game that everyone loved. We spent almost the entire night playing it. Later, we had dessert—a brigadeiro pie that Camila and I bought from a fancy Brazilian bakery. It cost around R$160, but it was worth every cent. The cake was divine, though a bit too sweet for your dad, who couldn’t even finish three bites. You were asleep, so you missed out, but there was plenty left for the next day.

    Around 12:30 or 1:00 AM, my fears came true: you woke up. And once you were up, there was no stopping you. Fully recharged, you were running around, keeping everyone on their toes while we grew more exhausted. You, on the other hand, only got more energetic. You joined in on the games, dashing around and shouting gleefully.

    At one point, while your dad tried putting you back to sleep, the rest of us—me, Camila, Danilo, and Maria Fernanda—played UNO. We could hear you upstairs, practically tearing the house apart with your laughter and squeals. The UNO game dragged on so long that we gave up. By 4:30 or 5:00 AM, we finally headed to bed. You only fell asleep around 5:30, just as the sun was rising.

    Escreva algo…

    Despite everything, it was a unique and fun New Year’s celebration. I hope we get to do it again. Of course, I missed my parents, but I know everyone had fun in their own way. Happy New Year, my love. Here’s to an even better year ahead.

    domingo, 29 de dezembro de 2024

    To my daughter Melanie (December 2024)

     Extra* Chapter 346: My heart and I were buried in the dust (Marcelo's Chapter)

    I'll try to keep Marcelo's chapter as brief as possible—otherwise, it might get too long—but it was such an important part of my life. That said, I already wrote a book about our story. Of course, I omitted a few things and added others, which you’ll probably notice, but about 90% of it is true.

    I spent many years at Escola Paulista, attending from first grade through ninth grade, completing my entire elementary and middle school education there. When I transitioned to high school, I moved to a new school called Isaac Newton, along with a friend of mine, Ana Caroline. Ana had been my classmate from fourth to sixth grade, but in seventh and eighth, she switched to a school closer to her home. Despite the change, we stayed in touch, and we both decided to start at this new school together in high school.

    What I can tell you is this: from the moment I first saw Marcelo on my very first day at Isaac Newton, my heart raced, and I knew I was going to fall for him. It was crazy, really. But there was a problem—he had a girlfriend. It wasn’t a serious relationship, though; they hadn’t even been intimate. It was just one of those high school flings. Still, he was technically taken, and I tried my best to keep my distance. I couldn’t imagine someone like him—so stunning—ever being interested in me. But he was. And we fell for each other. It was impossible to think about anyone else, which, I know, was wrong. But I’ve paid the price for that, as you’ll see later.

    After a lot of ups and downs, we finally started dating, and our first kiss happened at my 15th birthday party. A few weeks later, he officially asked me to be his girlfriend. That marked what I can only describe as the happiest days, weeks, and months of my life. I was completely in love for the first time, and it was amazing. I remember us staring into each other’s eyes for minutes at a time, just smiling. Our foreheads would touch, our noses brushing, lost in the pure bliss of the moment.

    But as you know, passion is fleeting. Love is what endures. And Marcelo’s passion for me began to fade, even if neither of us wanted to admit it. He cared for me, I’m sure, but there were so many complications behind the scenes. I’ll get straight to the point: for Valentine’s Day in Brazil that July, I gave him a ticket to a concert he’d been dying to attend with his friends. I trusted him completely, and even though his ex-girlfriend, Camila, would also be there, I didn’t worry. Trust is the foundation of any relationship, and I believe that wholeheartedly.

    But that trust backfired on me. The day after the concert, when I went to his house, he confessed that he’d cheated on me—with seven people. Four women, three men. One of those women was Camila, and she walked out of his house that very moment. I spared some of the details in the book I wrote about him. For instance, I didn’t reveal that he’d been with men. That was too personal, and I felt it wasn’t my place to expose his sexuality. Even though the book was only sold online, and I knew people who knew us were reading it, I couldn’t risk his father finding out through me. At the time I wrote the book, we’d been apart for over a year, and his father still didn’t know.

    That betrayal marked the beginning of the end for us. We’d had four incredible months—March, April, May, and June—but after that, everything fell apart. Marcelo and his twin brother began questioning their sexualities, which became the talk of our entire school. I was only 15, completely unprepared to deal with such a situation. I had no prior exposure to homosexuality or bisexuality, and it scared me. It was all so new, and I felt overwhelmed. On top of dealing with girls constantly vying for his attention, I now had to deal with jealousy over men, too.

    Marcelo and his brother adopted the "emo" style that was popular in 2008 and 2009, hanging out with people from that scene, which terrified me. I wanted the Marcelo I’d fallen for to come back. But this was who he was now, and I had to either accept it or let him go. I was so in love that I tried to accept it, even tried to change him, while refusing to acknowledge the truth that was obvious to everyone else.

    Looking back, I think he was bisexual. He clearly liked women and had been with plenty, but I’m not certain. All I know is that Marcelo was my first great love, my first everything—my first real relationship, my first sexual experience, my first heartbreak. When we broke up after a fight in April 2009, he said he wanted to enjoy life and wasn’t ready for a serious relationship. From his perspective, it made sense. But for me, my world fell apart.

    After the betrayal on Valentine’s Day, we actually had a few happy months together, but deep down, I always felt like he continued to cheat on me. He cared about me, but he just couldn’t stay faithful. I’m certain of it—I just don’t know the exact number of people he cheated on me with, but it was a lot. And, like many women who know but pretend they don’t, I looked the other way. It’s that classic story: bad with him, worse without him. The cheating itself was excruciating, a terrible pain—but nothing compared to the agony of losing him.

    As I told you, he was my first boyfriend. We traveled together, shared amazing moments, and I was completely in love with him. He knew my entire family, and I knew his, so when it ended, my world fell apart.

    In April 2009, we broke up. I was 16 at the time and didn’t feel anything for anyone else until I was 18. I spent two years without getting involved with anyone. During that time, I went through about a year and a half of serious depression. I became extremely thin, lost a lot of weight, and even skipped celebrating my 17th birthday altogether. I didn’t want anyone congratulating me or sending messages. It was awful because, until then, I had loved birthdays and always celebrated them. Since that year, my birthdays have never felt the same.

    There were days when I’d spend hours in my dark room, lying in bed, not wanting to eat, not wanting to do anything at all. My parents were deeply worried; they suffered so much seeing me like that. I remember one time my dad came into my room, ready to scold me, to say enough was enough—that he couldn’t take it anymore. But I was so broken, so lost, that the moment he opened the door angrily, I ran to him, crying, and hugged him tightly. That moment completely disarmed him. He hugged me back, overwhelmed with pity, and said we needed to come up with a plan to get him back, the one I loved so much.

    It was such a sweet gesture from my dad... but there was no plan to get him back. Too much had happened, and during that time, I lost my faith in God. That’s when I became an atheist. I stopped believing altogether, and even now, I don’t believe—but today, it’s for entirely different reasons. Back then, though, it was when I first started questioning everything.

    But that’s a story for another chapter—it’s a sensitive topic involving religion and much more. That period of my life was excruciating, and I can’t recall anything more painful than what I went through back then. Well, except for one thing: when I almost lost my daughter—you.

    Anyway, after Marcelo and I broke up, we only kissed one more time after that, and then never again.

    I remember I couldn’t bring myself to go back to school for about two weeks after we ended things. I ended up asking for a transfer back to my old school, Paulista. I tried to go, but Melanie, I’ll never forget the feeling I had when I walked through those doors again. First, I looked terrible—my face was a mess, I was wasting away, so thin that everyone probably thought I was sick. And I was, but in a way that was hard to explain—emotionally, spiritually, completely drained.

    Stepping into that school felt like stepping into the past after having glimpsed an incredible future. That school was my past, a chapter I had closed, something I didn’t want to return to. After transferring, I’d discovered a new school, made new friends, and fallen in love with a new environment where I thought I’d continue my life. Coming back to that old place felt like I was being dragged ten steps back in my life.

    And then there were the stares. I was convinced people were judging me, thinking, Look at her. She left here for a new school, flaunted her perfect relationship with Marcelo all over social media, and now she’s been dumped and come crawling back. Rationally, I know they probably weren’t thinking that. But in my mind, that’s all I could see—the whispers, the stares, the judgment.

    I imagined them saying, There’s Natasha, the lovestruck girl who couldn’t stop posting pictures of her perfect boyfriend from the new school, and now here she is, heartbroken, crying, miserable, ugly—and worst of all, completely alone, with no one, not even friends.

    The weight of that humiliation was unbearable. I couldn’t last more than two hours in that school. It was one of the worst feelings I’ve ever experienced. I wanted to scream, roll on the ground, and pound my fists and feet like a tantrum-throwing child. I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs. But I was silenced—by my age, by the weight of societal expectations, by my own sense of decorum.

    After that episode, I decided it was time to turn things around and try going back to Isaac Newton. I straightened my hair, got a nose piercing, and gave it a shot. It kind of worked—for a few days or maybe a couple of weeks. But every time I heard something about him, whether it was gossip or just news I didn’t want to know, it was unbearable. I couldn’t handle it.

    I ended up bouncing from school to school, believe it or not, until I finally landed at Alvorada. That’s where I stayed and finished high school. But before I found Alvorada, I went through so many schools, always feeling like I had to run away because every place felt suffocating, like I was drowning.

    It was such a complicated chapter of my life—messy and painful but also, oddly enough, a chapter with its happy moments. I have mixed feelings about what I call the 'Marcelo chapter.'

    For more details, you can always read the book I wrote about him. The only thing I left out was the fact that he hooked up with other guys. Oh, and I lied about the ending of the book—but you’ll understand why when you get there.

    Everything else, though? 100% real, including the dialogue.


    09/12 Chapter 347: So close, so far

    I was really curious about that apartment I’d been eyeing—Verdant. I reached out to one of the sellers, and guess what? The price jumped more than R$100,000 over the past few months. A while back, I spoke to a real estate agent, and she quoted around R$1,700,000. Now, it’s R$1,958,000 and some. This building just keeps appreciating. Acting casual, I brought it up with my parents, just to see if we could visit the construction site, discuss payment options, and all that.

    Today, we scheduled an afternoon appointment with the agent. Of course, we couldn’t get inside the construction site, but we got a good look at the building. It’s supposed to be ready by next May. Even though the structure is up, there’s still a lot to do. None of the leisure areas are complete, so we doubt it’ll be finished on time.

    When we arrived, Clayton, the agent, greeted us and explained everything about the apartment. He mentioned the condo fees, which we liked—around R$1,300. That’s not much more than the R$1,000 I pay here for almost nothing. This one will have a sand court, soccer field, huge heated pools, a gym, sauna, and a full leisure area. The only downside? My mom thought the balcony was small, but I’m sure it’s just the angle—it’ll look better up close.

    The unit I’m considering is the smallest, at 129 m², and the most affordable. There’s a 133 m² option with a small balcony in the master suite, but that adds a whopping R$400,000. Then there’s the grand 155 m² unit, not to mention the penthouse at over 300 m²—definitely for millionaires.

    The payment plan goes like this: R$500,000 upfront, which I have, and R$600,000 upon key delivery, supposedly in May. But even the agent admitted that’s unlikely—it might be delayed until November. Honestly, the longer it takes, the better for us, giving us time to sell our current place. If we sell it for R$500,000, that covers most of the key delivery payment, leaving only R$100,000 to scrape together, which I’m sure my dad could lend me. The rest—around R$700,000—would need to be financed.

    On paper, it seems doable. I got so excited, pestering my parents about it. But later, back home, reality hit: I can’t have it all. I’m already in the middle of a U.S. visa process. Buying such a high-end apartment means I’d barely get to enjoy it before renting it out to focus on my life abroad. Sure, the rental income—about R$5,000 to R$7,000 monthly—would help in the U.S., but with the current exchange rate, that’s under $1,000, barely enough to cover rent in California.

    And let’s not forget the bigger picture: this apartment costs R$1,958,000. I have R$1,000,000, but the rest? It took me 31 years to save R$500,000—half of which my dad gave me. Where would I find another R$958,000? Even if my dad sold his office to help, I’d owe him forever. Unless I start earning in dollars and saving to repay him, it’s just too much.

    Then there’s the cost of furnishing and decorating—a must for me. Décor makes a place, even a tiny 40 m² apartment can feel luxurious if styled well. Remember that Airbnb in Santos? Small, but beautifully done. Decorating a 129 m² apartment would easily add R$100,000. So, I’d need to find R$900,000 or more to make it perfect. And then what? Move to San Diego and leave everything behind for tenants who probably wouldn’t care for it like I would.

    In the end, I realized this building, as amazing as it is, isn’t for me—not in my reality. I can’t drag my parents into something that’s purely my dream. My dad has the money, I don’t. But that doesn’t stop me from browsing other properties within my R$1,000,000 budget. Still, finding anything over 100 m² in São Paulo at that price feels impossible, which is why this one seemed so perfect.

    I messaged my mom to say I wouldn’t bug her anymore. I’d thought it through and knew this wasn’t realistic. She was proud of my maturity and decision-making, which meant a lot since she knows how stubborn I can be when I want something. But this time, no one had to talk me out of it—I figured it out myself. I sent my dad a similar message, and he encouraged me not to give up, to keep searching for something I’d love.

    And so, the search for a new dream begins.

    PS: How is it possible to miss something you never had?

    Goodbye, Verdant!


    10-11/12 Chapter 348: Let's get retarded

    I spoke with Clayton and laid out the situation honestly, admitting that as much as I loved the apartment, it simply wasn’t realistic for me. He tried to insist a little, but I explained that while I was determined to buy an apartment through him, it had to fit my budget. I asked him to look for places over 100 square meters and priced at no more than R$1,000,300. He mentioned a development called Raízes in Jardim São Paulo, scheduled for delivery in 2026.

    2026, though, isn’t ideal for me. I need a ready-to-move-in apartment—or at the latest, something by 2025. Otherwise, I won’t get much use out of it. That said, the Raízes project does sound appealing. Its layout and style seem similar to the apartment I fell in love with, though with fewer amenities. However, I’ve been discussing Raízes with a different agent, and if I decide to explore it, I’ll go through her.

    I’ve been searching endlessly, scrolling through countless listings, but finding an apartment over 100 square meters as perfect as the one I adored feels impossible. Sure, there are some nice buildings, but the condo fees are absurd—over R$2,000—and offer almost nothing in return. Older buildings, in particular, have this issue. It’s frustrating… nothing seems to match the value of the apartment I’m still obsessing over.

    Clayton did send me another option for R$1,000,300, which seemed spacious and was, after all, R$600,000 cheaper. I agreed to visit it with my mom tomorrow, and earlier in the day, I’ll meet the other agent to check out the Raízes model. The construction has just begun.

    I’m hopeful I’ll find something that suits me, allowing us to start fresh in a better place. It’s not just about having a home; it’s also an investment. Real estate usually appreciates, and with a bigger apartment, I could also get better rental income down the line.

    Still, I can’t deny it—I feel like a widow. I’ve barely let go of that apartment, yet I’m already comparing every other place to it. I feel like someone still hung up on their ex.

    The next day, I visited both properties. As expected, my mom was late, delaying everything since the viewings were scheduled back-to-back.

    After dropping you off at school, we headed straight to Jardim São Paulo to learn more about the Raízes project. It’s priced at R$1,000,300 but has less square footage than the apartment I loved, fewer amenities, and the biggest drawback—it’ll be ready by late 2027, not 2026 as they initially claimed. That’s way too far out for me. By then, I might already be in San Diego. It’s not worth the wait.

    Next, we rushed to meet Clayton. Despite the delay, we managed to see the apartment. My mom liked it, but I had some reservations: I wasn’t enchanted. And that matters. If I’m going to go through all the hassle of moving, it needs to be to a place that truly excites me, a place that makes my eyes light up. This one didn’t.

    Although it’s bigger, it’s not that big. It’s a relatively new building—about ten years old, like ours—but far less well-maintained. Despite its size, the entire building feels neglected. Our current place, though small, has always had excellent management. Otávio, our current property manager, may not have the warmest personality, but he’s efficient. He’s constantly working on improvements, so our building looks practically new.

    This one, by contrast, has a rundown vibe. The pool is unattractive, the party room tiny, and while the kids’ play area is better than ours, that’s about it. The condo fees are higher, and there are only two apartments per floor, which makes me doubt the quoted fees are even accurate. They also use a virtual concierge system, which I hate. Plus, the neighborhood felt off—not bad, just not appealing. It’s near that pizza place we frequent, but something about it didn’t sit right with me. Or maybe I’m just looking for reasons to dislike it because, deep down, I keep comparing everything to the apartment I fell for.

    That’s the thing about falling in love—whether it’s with a person, a place, or an idea. You start comparing everything else, and nothing measures up. Your mind tricks you into finding flaws, just to remind yourself how special the thing you loved was.

    I told my mom and the agent that no place would ever feel as good as the Verdant apartment. Sensing my hesitation, the agent took his chance: What could you actually afford for that place? My mom quickly jumped in with R$1,000,700.

    If you think about it, R$1,000,700 versus R$1,950,000 is a R$250,000 difference—significant. Clayton said he’d try to convince his manager to accept the offer. That gave us hope.

    And here I am again, dreaming of something that’s still out of reach. My mom said she’d talk to my dad to see what he thinks about this potential deal. But now, it feels like I’ve been given a taste of something sweet again, and with $250,000 off, I’m starting to get excited, imagining ways to make it work. Maybe I could work harder, wake up early, head to Brás, and try reselling goods.

    But then I think—I can’t work more; I’m already struggling to give you the attention you deserve. Still, sometimes in life, you have to take a leap of faith.

    Is it risky? Sure. But everything in life carries risks. If you never take them, you never grow. If I buy that place for $1,000,700, I know it’ll be worth much more in a few years. And, like I said, the rental income from it could help fund our move to San Diego. It’s an investment, after all. Now, I just have to wait for the manager’s response and see if this dream can become a reality.

    Let's get retarted and put it all in.


    12/12 Chapter 349: New era comitted

    It's such a joy to say, my love: it all worked out! YAAAAAAAAY!
    I’m so happy—beyond happy, really. See? Happiness is a state of mind. Just because I’m over the moon right now doesn’t mean I’ll stay this way forever. Life moves on, and so people's emotions.

    Clayton initially raised the price to R$1,750,000, pointing out that they had already dropped more than R$200,000, which was true. But I stayed firm. In moments like this, you have to play their game, not come across as desperate. I told him it was up to my parents, and they were firm on R$1,700,000. If the price went beyond that, we’d start looking for another property. Honestly, my parents were willing to stretch to R$1,750,000, but I had to stick to our strategy unless they really called our bluff and walked away. But that didn’t happen.

    I explained calmly that R$1,700,000 was our max. I even said, “If you can close at that price, I’ll connect you directly with my dad to sign the paperwork.” Then, I added a bit of disappointment to my tone: “It’s a shame, but we’ll start looking elsewhere.” And just like that, I played their game.

    In the end, it worked out! The realtor and agency even took a smaller cut than expected, but since this was the last available unit of the 129m² layout, I think they just wanted to close the deal. And guess what? The final unit went to us! We’re now the proud owners of Apartment 42. We’re moving from 53 to 42—one floor lower.

    I still can’t believe we pulled it off. Honestly, it feels like this is one of the most sought-after properties in the entire North Zone. I’m thrilled! Now comes the hard part: doubling down to secure the payments, visiting multiple realtors, and putting my dad’s two properties on the market. That’s step one. But we’ll make it work—we have to.

    I’ve already put R$500,000 down. If we sell the apartment for another R$500,000, that’ll bring us to R$1 million. And if we sell my dad’s old office for R$800,000—though he originally wanted R$1 million—then we’ll be fully paid off without needing a bank loan. After that, I’ll just repay my dad as the money comes in.

    Our neighbor across the street works in real estate, and he’s already offered to list both properties with his agency. The only problem is the timing—December and January are dead months because of the holidays. No one’s thinking about buying property right now. But I’m hopeful that things will pick up in February. We have until May to sell one of the properties. Fingers crossed we get it done.

    New year, new chapter—and this time, it’s quite literal.


    13/12 Chapter 350: Feeling Christmas all around

    We're in the holiday spirit. Your aunt picked you and your cousin up from school to take you both to the mall to see Santa Claus. Every year, all the malls have a Santa set up for photos and fun for the kids. You don’t get as into the Christmas spirit as your cousin Rafinha. You’re always a bit hesitant with Santa, never willing to sit on his lap or take pictures—sometimes you even cry. But your cousin Rafinha? He dives in headfirst. He absolutely loves Christmas.



    I love Christmas too.

    I also have a funny story to share. I ordered a special sensor from my friend in the U.S. that you place under a rug, and when someone steps near it, it starts playing two Christmas songs, one of which is "Jingle Bells." I also bought a Christmas-themed rug to go with it and placed the sensor underneath. The first time you saw it, you weren’t too interested. The second time, your cousin was with you, and when he heard "Jingle Bells," he went wild with happiness. He had already loved that song when we played it for him on YouTube last week, and he started jumping on the couch like crazy.


    Now, every time he hears it, he gets super happy and starts dancing and jumping.

    So, when the sensor played the song as he got close to it, he danced and jumped, refusing to move away from the rug. We tried to get you both away from the rug five times, but it was no use. Eventually, you started to enjoy the song too, as you saw how happy it made your cousin, and you started dancing and jumping with him.


    I was starting to get a bit concerned because the music was pretty loud, and the neighbors might get annoyed, especially the lady who lives on the left side of the front. So, we decided to play "Jingle Bells" on the TV to get Rafinha away from the rug, so I could turn the sensor off.

    The fun continued, with "Jingle Bells" playing on the TV at a lower volume, and with the walls buffering the sound, so the neighbors wouldn’t be bothered.

    All I know is that this rug brought so much joy to you both. Now, every time you get close to it, you want the music to play. Sometimes, though, the sensor is off, so I have to turn it on for you. And the funniest part is that when the second song starts, you both wait impatiently for it to finish so "Jingle Bells" can play again.

    And because of the Christmas spirit growing in you, I grabbed a small tree with my grandma Celeste, and together we decorated it, along with your dad. It was so much fun, even though your dad did most of the setup. We also made a cute little picture frame since I didn’t have any nails for the door, and I added some Christmas decorations. Now we can really feel the Christmas spirit setting in, and it's so much stronger than before. The last two Christmases, you were still too small to understand much, but this year, it feels like things are changing, and you’ll finally get to experience the joy and magic of Christmas through the eyes of a child.


    Extra* Chapter 351: Still got scars in my back from a knife (Laís' Chapter)

    Today, I’m diving into the second extra story here in the book, which touches on my past. The first extra I wrote was about my first relationship when I was very young, just 15. This second story ties into that one, but also brings in the theme of friendships. Let’s begin. Marcelo and I were together for all of 2008, starting in March and breaking up in April 2009. School had started back in early February, I believe it was the first week. As always, the new school year brings fresh faces—new students and some familiar ones leaving for other schools. This year, I requested a transfer to be in the same class as my boyfriend. I was in Class A, he was in Class B, and I switched to Class B to be with him.

    This year, two new girls joined, Laís and Karina. They were best friends who transferred from another school, much like I did with Ana during my first year at this school—though we weren’t coming from the same previous school. Imagine two beautiful girls—Laís and Karina. Everyone thought they were stunning, and on top of their looks, they were also warm and kind, which made us bond right away. As I mentioned, I’ve always tried to connect with new people because I know how tough it can be to be the new one. I try to put myself in others’ shoes. They were so alike that people started calling them "twins," but there was one thing that set them apart—aside from their similar hair color and height, they had unique features, which I can appreciate now.

    Like I said, we became fast friends. We’d go over to each other’s houses, hang out at a burger joint, and do things like that. I remember that their parents were pretty strict and didn’t allow them to go out much at night to places like clubs or parties. So, our hangouts were always calm, like going to the mall or having a meal at a restaurant. Both their families were more protective in that way.

    Something that really stood out about Laís was the necklace she wore. She told me she’d made a vow of chastity—she would only lose her virginity after marriage. I found that admirable in a way, though it’s rare to meet someone who thinks that way today. Whether or not she followed through, I don’t know, but I always thought it was nice. Though, in my opinion, intimacy before marriage is important—it’s possible that people won’t click in that department, and if you marry someone without that connection, well, things are unlikely to work out. But that’s a discussion for another time. One I’m not sure I’ll ever be comfortable having with my daughter. I certainly wouldn’t with my mother. Tainá, though, she’s open about it.

    Back to school life, the three of us would hang out together, though I often spent time with my boyfriend. I do remember that a lot of the girls in my class didn’t like me, and to this day, I’m not sure why. They’d mock me, laugh behind my back, talk about me... and it only got worse when my relationship ended. There was one girl, Renata Pimenta, who made my life a living hell. I never did anything to her, but she treated me like I was her enemy. She was so fake. I remember once I tried to add her on social media, and she rejected me. Later, when I was with my boyfriend, she asked why I hadn’t added her. My boyfriend laughed and said, “She did, but you rejected her.” Of course, she denied it. What a joke.

    All I know is that in the short time I stayed at that school after my relationship ended, this girl made my life so miserable that my sister, who was only 14 at the time, gathered a tough group of friends to confront her at the school gates. At one point, even my dad almost got involved—and my parents were never the type to step into these situations. But one night, he saw me crying so much that he said something like, "Let’s see if this Pimenta is really as spicy as she claims." It was sweet seeing him try to protect me.

    When Marcelo and I broke up, the girls really stood by me. Not just Roberta, who I considered a sister and will talk about later, but also some friends from school, like Karina, Laís, and Rafa. We became close with Rafa after she ended her relationship with a guy from our class. I felt truly supported—not just by them but by friends outside of school, especially the boys.

    However, there's something important about depression, my daughter: at first, people will try to help. They’ll reach out, offer a hand, and try to understand. But there comes a point when your sadness lingers too long, and people start to pull away. They can’t handle that constant negative energy. Very few will stick by your side during prolonged moments of despair—parents, maybe, but friends? It’s rare, especially at that age when everyone is still figuring themselves out, having fun, and just starting to explore life.

    I began losing friends because of the depression I fell into—friends I loved dearly. Now, I understand it better. I was making my problems everyone’s problems, and true, loyal friends are hard to come by. You’ll have plenty of friends while you’re young, especially around 14 or 15. It feels like everyone is a friend. But once you reach adulthood, my dear, you’ll realize only a handful will stick around.

    Well, I started losing friends here and there, but some stayed. That wasn’t really the problem, though. The real issue was that now Marcelo, single again, could be with any girl he wanted. And for me, that was incredibly hard and painful to accept—or even think about. You have no idea how difficult it was for me.

    Then I heard rumors that Laís, who was supposed to be my friend, had her eye on him. And honestly? I get it. The twins were some of the most attractive guys I’d ever seen in Brazil. Seriously, very good-looking. And let’s be real—handsome men here are rare. They’re the exception, not the rule. Even in high school, they were striking. I’ve told you before, back then I thought I was ugly. And honestly, I was. So I could never fully understand why Marcelo was with me in the first place.

    But even so, there’s something called friendship ethics, and that should always come before any fleeting attraction. Especially from someone like Laís, someone I saw as strong and principled. Funny enough, looking back now, I think if any girl had to get involved with him, it might’ve been better if it was her—at least I’d know there wouldn’t be anything more than kissing, right? Hahaha. But back then, at 16, even just the idea of a kiss was enough to shatter my heart into pieces.

    I don’t remember if I confronted her or talked to her about it. I think she denied everything, and Marcelo also promised he wouldn’t go there because she was my friend. I’ve always believed this: friendship should come before any guy—unless it’s your husband or serious boyfriend. Seriously, there are millions of people in the world, millions of guys. Why ruin a friendship over someone you’re not even considering having a real relationship with?

    I started to grow suspicious of Laís, though, and every day I lived in fear of hearing that they’d kissed. It’s crazy, right? How just a kiss—someone putting their tongue in someone else’s mouth—can ruin your entire day and break your heart.

    And you know, I’d been through something similar before. Back in eighth grade, there was this guy, Lucas, a senior in high school. Two of my friends at the time, Karina and Cibele, both stabbed me in the back to be with him. They chose a guy who didn’t want anything serious over a friendship. I had felt betrayed back then too, but it wasn’t the same. With Lucas, I had a little crush, but I didn’t love him. Marcelo was my first real love—my first in almost everything.

    So I knew how much it hurt to be betrayed by someone you loved and trusted as a friend. I’d already experienced the pain of seeing someone I cared about throw our friendship away. But this time, that pain was stacked on top of the heartbreak of losing the person who, at that moment, meant everything to me.

    And it happened. The one who told me was Marcelo’s sister, my ex-sister-in-law, who I really liked and cared about. I’ll never forget the moment I found out that Laís and Marcelo had kissed. My world completely fell apart.

    I remember crying in the car on the way home with my mom. When I learned what had happened, I broke down. It felt like the pain was eating me alive from the inside out. I let out a scream in the car, a deep, guttural cry that startled my mom so much she pulled over to try and calm me down. But it felt like I was being stabbed, over and over, and I screamed with each stab. It was one of the worst moments of my life.

    What made it worse was that this time, it wasn’t a surprise—I had prayed every night that it wouldn’t happen, and yet it did. Why did it have to come from someone I loved and trusted as a friend?

    The only good thing that came out of this was that Karina and Rafaela stood by me. They completely cut ties with Laís—especially Karina, who had been close to her since they’d come from the same school. She distanced herself and embraced my pain. And Karina? We’re still in touch to this day. Funny how life works, isn’t it?


    17/12 Chapter 352: When the world is crashing down

    After a whirlwind of emotions and the near loss of Adriano, seemingly due to medical errors or a lack of understanding about his condition, he was finally discharged. The entire family breathed a sigh of relief—until we received devastating news: Cauã had a slight nosebleed and small red spots, possibly eczema, on his skin. He was admitted to the hospital for further tests, and the doctors terrified my uncles by suggesting the possibility of leukemia.

    The entire family was in panic. I can’t imagine a child Cauã’s age, just eight years old, enduring such thing. And that’s without even considering the anguish of his parents. There’s nothing worse for a parent than the fear of losing their child. Cancer is an exhausting, painful journey—something no child, and really no good person, should ever have to face. But especially not a child—an innocent, pure soul who brings joy to the world. I can’t accept it.

    I reached out to Dr. Humberto, who, as we know, is always reliable. He offered to review Cauã’s test results and mentioned a fantastic dermatologist friend who worked at Sabará Hospital, where you were previously admitted. He suggested scheduling an appointment with her, though he warned that Cauã’s discharge would depend on what the hospital uncovered.

    What shook me most was when Dr. Humberto admitted that, based on the tests, leukemia was a possibility. However, a pediatrician friend of mine reassured me, saying she didn’t see any signs that pointed to it. The likelihood was incredibly low. Cauã stayed in the hospital for two days, with Débora crying her heart out and Júnior visibly shaken. In the end, the leukemia tests came back negative, and he was finally discharged. But it had rattled all of us. December seems relentless this year, hitting everyone hard. Oddly enough, this time of year has brought health scares for our family for over four years now. Coincidence or not, I’ve started to fear the end of the year. Still, I’m so grateful Cauã is okay.

    It’s moments like this that chipped away at my faith in God. That wasn’t my initial thought—it didn’t come from a place of anger—but over time, I’ve started to question. Just because things turned out well for us doesn’t mean other families or children are as fortunate. Someone posted in the family group, “See? God is good all the time.” But what about the children who actually have leukemia? Is He only good to you and your family? Are you somehow more deserving than those who suffer? It’s a complicated topic, one that perhaps deserves an entire chapter down the line.

    But in the end, it's worth saying that Cauã was discharged, and it wasn’t leukemia. It just gave us a scare. Still, I can’t help but think about the other children and parents who don’t get this kind of good news. I can’t help but feel for them. Just because I have a good life doesn’t mean the world is good. Far from it.


    23/12 Chapter 353: New days are strange, is the world insane?

    The latest news from the United States hit me hard. A woman on the New York City subway was asleep in one of the cars when a man from Guatemala—someone who had already been deported and somehow made his way back—set her on fire, just like that, for no apparent reason. And as if that wasn’t horrifying enough, he sat there watching as she writhed in agony until she died.

    The obvious issue here is the complete lack of humanity in the world today. That’s why I don’t believe in God or the devil. To me, the demons are already here, walking among us—they’re people like him. How can someone like that even be called human?

    What kept me up at night, though, was knowing that many people stood by, filming her as she burned. Not one person stepped in to help, even though it’s cold this time of year in the U.S., and everyone’s wearing jackets. Sure, she was likely beyond saving, but imagine if she had died knowing someone had at least tried to help. Instead, she left this world surrounded by cold, indifferent eyes.

    The idea of people pulling out their phones to record such a desperate moment in someone else’s life is something I’ll never understand. If I’d been there, I’d have screamed, cried, begged for help—anything but hit “record.”

    As if all that wasn’t enough, a photo surfaced of a police officer walking right past her. Just strolling by, ignoring her completely. No radio call for backup, no attempt to help.



    Imagine that—someone whose job is to protect and serve, turning a blind eye to a woman engulfed in flames.

    People like to say the worst is behind us—slavery, the Holocaust, all those dark chapters in history. But honestly, how are we any better now?

    The world is getting sicker as people detach from humanity and don't feel empathy or compassion. This situation remind me the tv show Black Mirror. Black Mirror is a provocative series that explores the dark side of technology and its impact in our future. Each episode tells its own story, showing how advancements could go wrong and lead to troubling outcomes. The show explores the dangers of humanity's increasing reliance on technology, imagining how today's habits and inventions could evolve into unsettling futures.

    For example, Nosedive critiques social media culture by portraying a world where every interaction is rated, and social status depends on maintaining high scores. It’s a disturbing take on today’s obsession with likes and online approval, revealing how this reliance could damage real human connections.

    In The Entire History of You, a world where every moment is recorded and replayed exposes the risks of constant surveillance and the loss of privacy. What begins as a tool to enhance memory quickly turns into a source of paranoia and personal destruction. Overall, the series paints a future to fear—one where technology, rather than liberating us, traps us in cycles of obsession, alienation, and ethical dilemmas. It’s a powerful commentary on how today’s technological trends could shape a world far darker than we anticipate. The comparison between Black Mirror and this recent tragedy highlights a disturbing reflection of modern society’s dehumanization through technology.

    In Black Mirror, the pervasive theme is the way technology erodes empathy and human connection, turning individuals into passive observers of others' suffering. Episodes like White Bear vividly portray this, where onlookers film a woman’s torment without any sense of moral duty to intervene. This chilling detachment mirrors the behavior seen in the New York case, where the instinct to record a horrific event outweighed the basic human impulse to assist.
    In real life, this detachment is increasingly common, as shown by bystanders who record tragedies instead of stepping in to help. It highlights the dark side of our screen-obsessed culture, where the urge to capture and share content often overpowers empathy and responsibility.

    Black Mirror warns of a future where people are so absorbed in their screens and self-interest that they become indifferent to the suffering of others, a future that now feels uncomfortably close.

    24/12 Chapter 354: Holy night

    Christmas was a little quieter this year since Junior’s family spent it with Débora’s family, but it was still magical, happy, and full of fun. The games felt even more relaxed this year, probably because of everything we’d been through during past Christmases—especially with the Gift-Stealing Game we play every year, which always stirs up trouble. Somehow, Junior’s money always ends up in the hands of his own family. Go figure!

    My dad spent way less on nuts, cheeses, and treats this year—there’s a reason for that, but I’ll share it in a few days. Even so, there was still more than enough for everyone, and, as usual, plenty left over. But I have to say, I was disappointed with the pistachios. I love pistachios and pretty much only eat them during Christmas, but for the first time, my dad and grandpa bought the wrong kind—unsalted. Let me tell you, they don’t even come close to the salted ones. You can eat them, sure, but it’s just not the same. I had even asked them to set aside 100g of pistachios for me because we’ll be spending New Year’s at your grandparents’ house with my friend Camila’s family. She once told me she didn’t like pistachios because the sweet version didn’t appeal to her, but I explained that pistachios are actually a kind of nut—basically a fancy peanut—and they only later became a sweet snack. I was sure she’d love the salty version, so I promised to bring some. Now, if her first try is with these unsalted ones… I doubt she’ll be impressed, haha. The magic of pistachios lies in that salty coating inside and out!

    We spent Christmas Day by the pool, which stretched into the evening and delayed the usual festivities. Our real celebration, as you know, is always on the 24th, with games, presents, and dinner. The 25th is quieter by comparison.

    I made sure you had a good nap in the afternoon, knowing that without it, you’d either crash around 9:30 or get super cranky. This way, staying up until midnight or even later wouldn’t be an issue. And it worked—you were wide awake all evening, though your cousin Rafinha started showing signs of sleepiness.

    Everything got going pretty late, which made me think: next year, we need to start earlier so we can enjoy the day more and not stretch things so late. Now that we have you kids, it’s a bit trickier to manage everything.

    Rafael dressed up as Santa, stuffed all the gifts into a sack, and came down the stairs to deliver them. Rafinha, with his heightened Christmas spirit, was thrilled—he wasn’t scared of Santa at all. You, on the other hand, clung to your grandpa and wouldn’t let go. Santa handed out present after present; there was no end to them. You both had so many gifts that it was almost overwhelming—you couldn’t decide what to play with, which your dad always comments on. Next year, we’ll try something different, maybe splitting the gifts between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. That way, you can enjoy the presents over two days and give more attention to each one.

    As usual, your dad didn’t get it. He kept saying there were too many toys, but I explained that our family isn’t small like his, and everyone wants to spoil you. You get something from your great-grandpa, your grandma, your grandpa, Aunt Cuca, Andréia, Junior, your godfather… it all adds up. But that’s also makes Christmas special, and I don’t see any problem with it.

    When I was little, my sister and I loved getting so many presents—it was the highlight of our year. I don’t see why it should be any different for you. Sure, your dad has his own perspective, but for me, it’s about the joy of unwrapping gifts and the excitement of something new, more than the playing itself.

    For example, you got a few electronic toys, but they’re not really your thing; you prefer puzzles and building sets. I’ve already exchanged a few of the electronic ones for something I know you’ll enjoy more. And some toys you’re still too young for, so I’ve stashed them away under the bed or saved them for when we need a last-minute gift for a party. Nothing goes to waste!

    So, it’s not like you’re going to play with all the new toys and have twice as many scattered around the house—don’t worry, I’ll keep everything organized. As you get new toys, we’ll donate some of the old ones. That’s how I want things to work.

    For instance, you got plenty of dolls this year, but you don’t seem too interested in them yet. There’s one or two you like, but not all of them.

    One of them was a gift from my friend Camila. The first name that popped into my head when I handed it to you was Maya, and you loved it. You’ve been calling that doll Maya ever since. I think you really liked the name. Honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t say Mayla instead—I prefer that name much more. Maya’s pretty common here in Brazil; lots of kids and even some dogs are named Maya. But Mayla? I’ve only ever met one person with that name. You know how much I love unique names, as long as they’re beautiful. Not that beauty in a name isn’t subjective, of course.

    Anyway, back to Christmas. Once the kids finished opening their mountain of presents, we dove into Aunt Cuca’s game. She stacked a bunch of plastic cups, covered the tops with a wrap, and asked everyone to poke a hole in a cup to see what they’d win. Most cups had a Sonho de Valsa—a type of Brazilian chocolate I love—but there was one unlucky empty cup (Grandpa got that one), and one with R$50 in it, which Aunt Cuca ended up picking. To be fair, she chose last, after everyone else had their turn, so it was pure luck. It was a short but fun little game.

    Around midnight, we all gathered outside as usual to exchange hugs, wish each other a Merry Christmas, and pop the champagne. I’ll admit, a wave of sadness hit me then. It was the first Christmas in six years that I wasn’t truly with your dad—not just physically, but emotionally. Seeing everyone embracing and kissing while our hug felt so cold… it stung a little, left me feeling blue for a while, but after a while I shook it off and got back into the festive spirit.

    Dinner was incredible, as always. Lots of delicious food: creamy scalloped potatoes that Aunt Cuca made even better than Débora’s, plenty of roast pork, almond rice (one of my favorites), tender ham—it was a feast fit for kings.

    Afterward, we moved on to more games. There were three left, and we started with the longest one: Secret Santa with a twist. This year, since Júnior’s family wasn’t around, we included money in the game again. IIt’s something we planned to ban with his family because it always causes drama. But this time, everything went smoothly, and I think everyone was happy with their gifts. A couple of people won money, but there was no jealousy. I had the chance to steal the cash myself, which would’ve been helpful with the apartment situation, but I didn’t. I went for some chocolates that Igor had instead. Your dad, on the other hand, did take the money but promised to donate it to someone in need, in the spirit of Christmas. It made the whole experience even more meaningful.

    Then we moved on to my mom’s game. Poor thing tried something new and fun, but it didn’t quite pan out. Every Christmas, she buys gifts for everyone. This year, she decided to spice things up by creating a Secret Santa game with the presents she’d bought. Here’s how it worked: one person would draw a name and then silently find the gift labeled for that person among the pile. For example, Igor drew Grandma Celeste’s name. He quietly picked up her gift, without anyone else seeing the tag, and then gave a little speech, describing her and teasing everyone until finally revealing who it was for.

    The twist? My mom had picked personalized gifts for each of us, but someone else would be the one “giving” them, making it feel like a true Secret Santa. She didn’t participate herself, but she got to watch all the fun unfold. Clever, right?

    But my mom’s idea was this: if someone picked their own name, they’d get an extra prize. She had prepared three extra prizes, hoping this would happen. What she didn’t realize, though, was that only the first person to draw a name had a chance to pick their own. After that, it was impossible because each person would always draw the next name in line.

    When we realized this, it was too late to change the rules. Still, the game turned out to be super fun, and everyone enjoyed their gifts. To make use of the extra prizes, my mom came up with a quick fix: she wrote numbers 1, 2, and 3 on three pieces of paper, folded them up, and mixed them with blank ones. Whoever picked a numbered slip got an extra prize.

    Your dad picked number 1 and won a box of chocolates. I got number 2 and won more chocolates, which made me happy. Aunt Andréia, who picked number 3, got the special prize. Inside her box, she found R$100 in two R$50 bills, along with a note that said: “The true spirit of Christmas is about giving more than receiving.”

    When Andréia read it, she froze, then started laughing and crying at the same time. She kept saying, “Oh no, Simone! Don’t make me give the money away!” We all burst out laughing at her reaction. The note explained that she had to give away half the money as a gift but could keep the other R$50. She chose to give it to Adriano, who had had a tough year, and it was such a heartfelt moment. Funny enough, Adriano had already won money in the "amigo ladrão" game, and nobody dared to steal it from him—it would’ve looked bad, right? Hahaha!

    I thought the whole idea was super creative and fun. If it had been me, I might’ve made the person give away the entire prize just to add to the Christmas spirit. But what made it extra special was that Andréia didn’t pick someone from her own family, which is probably what would’ve happened if Júnior’s family had been there.

    All in all, our Christmas was magical, filled with laughter, love, and traditions. Even though I felt a bit down when your dad complained about your gifts and from the emptiness of not being together anymore, I’m still grateful. Cauã was healthy, Adriano was alive and well, and we all got to celebrate another Christmas together. That’s what really matters.

    We decided to save the last game for tomorrow since it was already quite late, and there you were, still wide awake and buzzing around the house at 4 a.m. You had never stayed up so late in your entire life. Your dad was exhausted because he's now used to waking up and going to bed earlier, so he didn’t even stay for dessert—he just went straight to bed.

    We enjoyed the dessert without him and wrapped up another beautiful Christmas together, with you finally going to sleep just as the sun was beginning to rise. Merry Christmas, my love, and here’s to many, many more to come!


    26/12 Chapter 355: Just think about it

    One reason your grandpa spent less this Christmas is that my mom finally convinced him to buy a beach house. She’s been wanting one for years, but he never cared for the idea and had no intention of buying one. But just before I started insisting on getting a new apartment, your cousin Rafinha spent a few days at great-grandma’s place in Caraguá. My mom showed him photos and videos of Rafinha having a blast at the beach, and she made her case, saying that if we had a beach house, we could visit often, and you kids would have a fun, carefree childhood by the sea, just like my sister and I did.

    The moment she brought up the grandkids, your grandpa started looking for beach houses. My mom had tried for years to convince him, but nothing worked—until you and your cousin entered the picture. It’s funny how much influence you two have over him. You’ve awakened a new kind of love in his heart.

    The catch? This all happened just days before I started pursuing the apartment, and I had no clue. It’s like we both set out on separate dreams at the same time. But, true to her motherly nature, my mom told my dad the priority was to help me find a good place to live, just like my sister has now, and that the beach house could wait. She hadn’t realized I was planning to move when she first brought it up.

    Here’s the thing about your grandpa: he’s like me. Once he gets something in his head, nothing and no one can talk him out of it. He’ll dig in and follow through, no matter what. Sometimes that stubbornness can be an asset, but other times it drives people crazy.

    Now he had a mission: to find a beach house. And nothing was going to stop him.

    I have to admit, all this has been weighing on my mind. What if we can’t sell the apartment by May? My dad wouldn’t be able to bail me out because he’d already be tied up financially with the beach house. Could we really manage to take two big leaps like that at the same time?

    On top of everything, my dad has been trying to get a loan from the bank, but without success—probably because of his age. He’s already put down R$50,000 as a deposit, and if the loan doesn’t get approved, he won’t have the remaining funds, meaning he could lose that money entirely.

    /What makes it worse is how guilty I feel. If I hadn’t started looking for an apartment right when they began considering the beach house (completely unaware of each other’s plans), once they sold his property, he’d have practically all the money needed for the house. My dad worked his whole life, built his own little empire, and earned the right to buy whatever he wants without hesitation. Instead, he gives everything to his family without a second thought, and it’s just not fair! It’s his money, his properties—he shouldn’t even need a loan if he could sell both properties. I can’t shake the guilt, no matter how much my parents try to convince me otherwise.

    But on the other hand, if it works just think about: We would have a new, great place to live PLUS this amazing beach house that would bring so many joyful moments for our family. It would be great if both works. Just think about it...


    27/12 Chapter 356: I find bliss in ignorance

    Not long after you were born, the second round of the Brazilian elections took place. I’d known all year that Lula would win the presidency, but seeing it happen was something else. I cried a lot. A few days later, I remember my dad, clearly shaken, putting his hand on my shoulder and saying, “Don’t worry, our lives won’t change.” But the truth is, politics always affects people’s lives, and it started affecting mine in Lula’s very first year in office.

    Before I get into that, let me say this: don’t worry about politics until you’re at least 20. Enjoy your life, your teenage years—everything in its time. There’s a reason people can’t vote until they’re 18, and even that feels too young to me.

    Politics is very tricky. Once you start noticing the problems, it’s hard to turn back. It brings stress, lost friendships, endless arguments, all over a corrupt government. So, stay away from it as long as you can.

    Back to the point: I’ve always worked in sales. I used to make about R$1,000 to R$2,000 a month selling products from AliExpress. But as soon as Lula took office, his illustrious Minister of Economy, Fernando Haddad, changed the rules and added taxes on imports. Just like that, I lost a significant chunk of my income.

    I shifted focus back to selling goods from the U.S., relying on that, but now the dollar has skyrocketed, putting that income at risk too. To give you an idea, the dollar has already hit 6.30, the highest ever. Not even during the pandemic, when things were so chaotic, did it climb this high. Back then, it was somewhat understandable given the global crisis. But now? With no pandemic, I doubt it’ll drop back below five anytime soon.

    I knew things would get worse, but I didn’t expect it to happen this fast or hit this hard. I’m feeling pretty down about it. Even Luciana, my partner who sends the shipments, left me a voice message, clearly upset about the situation.

    At one point, I thought Luciana might be a Lula supporter. She has this free-spirited, hippie vibe—always optimistic about everything. But appearances can be deceiving, and that wasn’t the case. The truth is, politics is sneaky. People vote for whoever benefits them most and reject whoever doesn’t. It’s not wrong, really. Sure, we should all be more altruistic and think about the greater good, but it’s human nature to prioritize what affects us directly. And believe me, politics does affect our lives directly.

    As for me, Natascha, things are tough. If those shipments stop coming, I’ll have to rely solely on the income I earn managing my dad’s business, and honestly, that’s not enough to get by these days. I’m frustrated, tired, and honestly, feeling pretty low.

    If I’m not mistaken, the December shipment already fell short of what it should’ve brought in—not by much, but still. For example, Luciana spends X on a plane ticket, and at the very least, she needs to cover that cost and make some profit. The moment she can’t even break even on the ticket price, the business stops being profitable. Worse, it starts losing money. That’s how many companies bankrupt. If the next few shipments don’t bring in enough to cover costs, we’ll have to stop altogether.

    And why is this happening? Because the tickets are priced in dollars. Luciana needs to earn at least the equivalent of X in dollars just to cover them. When the exchange rate was lower, it was manageable, but now that it’s gone up, we’d need to earn more per shipment. But raising prices on the goods isn’t always feasible—if we charge too much, people won’t buy, and if we don’t sell enough, there’s no profit. Without that profit, we can’t afford to keep sending shipments. It’s a vicious cycle.

    What scares me the most isn’t even the people who voted differently, or those who still support this guy without regret. It’s the sheer ignorance of the Brazilian population. Education here is abysmal. Public schools are a disaster—you have no idea how bad they are. Since a large portion of the population is poor, they end up in these schools, and the government counts on that. They want the people to stay uneducated, blind to what’s going on, so they can keep their grip on power.

    To make matters worse, studies have shown that the average IQ in Brazil is below 83—lower than a monkey’s, apparently. Sure, monkeys are smart, but by that logic, we should be smarter. Honestly, it doesn’t even surprise me anymore. The lack of education, the illiteracy—it’s all so deeply rooted.

    What shocks me, though, is how many people still believe that the dollar’s rise won’t affect the poor, just the wealthy who travel abroad. Even our esteemed president said, “The poor don’t eat dollars.” If the president of the country himself says that—or pretends to believe it, because let’s be real, he’s not dumb; he knows what’s going on—how can we expect his followers to think any differently?

    The dollar doesn’t just impact people flying off to Disney—it’s the world’s currency. When the dollar rises, inflation follows. Oil prices go up, which drives up gas prices, and the cost of imported goods increases too. Something that used to cost 5.50 now costs 6.30, and that trickles down to everything. Filling up your car or stocking your pantry both hit harder. This is what many people don’t seem to grasp.

    Sometimes, I almost find bliss in ignorance. When you’re unaware, you don’t stress over things that should be top priorities. Meanwhile, those who are aware lose sleep over it. The impact will come for everyone eventually, but ignorance creates this illusion of safety. I say “illusion” because, let’s be honest, the blindest person is the one who refuses to see. Yet, in some ways, the ignorant seem less affected—mentally, at least.

    I know the government is trying to hold auctions to curb the rising dollar, selling off millions or even billions from our reserves. That usually helps bring the dollar down. But they’ve been auctioning off those billions daily, and it’s not working. The dollar either keeps climbing or stubbornly stays at the same high level—they’re failing to lower the global currency's value.

    And if they keep draining our reserves? Eventually, they’ll run out. Then what? No reserves, no safety net. A broken country.

    Honestly, I believe there should be a minimum education requirement to vote. Maybe a basic test to show you understand the fundamentals—or even an IQ test. I’m not talking about people who make informed choices because they know a particular party will benefit them. That’s fair; it’s your right to vote for someone who aligns with your interests. I’m talking about those who know nothing about politics but vote for a candidate simply because some celebrity endorsed them. These are the votes that frustrate me. People who proudly admit they don’t follow politics but hate Candidate X or love Candidate Y because their favorite singer or actress does. It’s infuriating, and they shouldn’t have the right to vote because they don’t even understand the consequences of their actions.

    But then we bump into the issue of democracy and rights. Everyone should have the right to vote once they hit a certain age, sure—but only if they know what they’re doing. Think about it: a 16-year-old who pulls the trigger and takes someone’s life isn’t sent to prison because they’re considered too young to fully understand their actions. But that same 16-year-old can vote? Two sets of standards. It’s maddening.

    I’m sick of this country.


     31/12 Chapter 357: My way home is through you

    Today was New Year’s Eve. We woke up at the apartment and waited for your dad to arrive before heading to my parents' house. We got there fairly early, considering the day.

    We had made plans with Camille and her family to meet at 4:00 PM, but I suspected I’d be a little late, so I asked if 5:00 PM would work instead, and we agreed on that. Funny enough, we ended up arriving at 4:00 PM anyway, but Camille’s family didn’t get there until around 7:00 or 7:30.

    I had bought some goodies, lots of nuts like my dad prepares at Christmas, and spent quite a bit of money on them. Brazil nuts, walnuts, chocolate-covered almonds, smoked almonds—and I even got Parmesan cheese chips, which we missed at Christmas. Everyone loved them. Who wouldn’t? Camille brought pistachios, and just as I expected, once she started eating them, she couldn’t stop. Thanks to me, another person got hooked on pistachios! But I warned her not to get too used to it—pistachios are fancy and expensive, a treat I usually only indulge in at Christmas. During the rest of the year, I settle for pistachio-flavored ice cream or chocolate, but it’s not quite the same. It’s like two completely different things.

    We chatted the night away, and the time just flew by. My godmother, Aunt Cuca, helped with the cooking. She made her famous gratin potatoes from Christmas and stuffed chicken. Camila brought a tender, but her version was different from my mom’s California-style tender with fruit. Hers was savory, buttered, and right up my alley.

    Then came the drama. Your dad suddenly shouted from the kitchen, and I immediately knew something was wrong. He showed me the chicken I’d left out of the fridge. Despite being covered in aluminum foil, ants had invaded it! The chicken was crawling with them. I called Camila for backup, and we decided to salvage it. No way were we wasting such delicious chicken. Thankfully, the ants were only on the top layer, where the cheese was, so I carefully removed them. It took a bit of effort, and I could still feel tiny ants crawling on me afterward, but at least our food was saved.

    We heated up the dishes, and I prepared my almond rice, but it was a disaster. Since I was making a large batch for everyone, I wasn’t sure about the water ratio. The rice turned out mushy at first and then completely dried out. It was edible but far from the fluffy, delicious rice it was made at Christmas. I’ve come to accept the harsh truth: I’m a terrible cook. Like it or not, some truths just need to be faced.

    Later, you were in a terrible mood. The only solution was to put you to bed early since you hadn’t napped all day. You fell asleep at 9:00 PM, which made me a bit uneasy. Ideally, you’d sleep after 9:40 PM to avoid waking up in the middle of the night. But I put you to bed in the living room to keep an eye on you, closed the doors, and we sat down to dinner just before midnight. We had to eat quickly, though, because midnight was fast approaching. Once we finished, we went outside to pop champagne and wish each other a Happy New Year.

    Afterward, I kissed you gently and whispered, “Happy New Year, my love.” This was our third New Year’s Eve together, and each one only makes me happier to have you by my side. Wherever I am, you’re my home. You always will be. Or at least my way home is through you.

    My parents had wanted to take you to the beach to spend New Year’s with them and your cousin, but I couldn’t agree to that. New Year’s wouldn’t be the same without you, even if you were just sleeping through it. We settled on letting you visit Caraguá later this month on a non-holiday trip.

    We spent the night playing games. One of our favorites was the auction game. A few weeks ago, Camila collected money from everyone, bought prizes, wrapped them, and handed out fake money. We bid on each prize she revealed, and the highest bidder won. Sometimes it was something cool and unique; other times, it was a joke prize, like instant noodles. That’s the fun of it.

    We also played COUP, a clever, strategic game that everyone loved. We spent almost the entire night playing it. Later, we had dessert—a brigadeiro pie that Camila and I bought from a fancy Brazilian bakery. It cost around R$160, but it was worth every cent. The cake was divine, though a bit too sweet for your dad, who couldn’t even finish three bites. You were asleep, so you missed out, but there was plenty left for the next day.

    Around 12:30 or 1:00 AM, my fears came true: you woke up. And once you were up, there was no stopping you. Fully recharged, you were running around, keeping everyone on their toes while we grew more exhausted. You, on the other hand, only got more energetic. You joined in on the games, dashing around and shouting gleefully.

    At one point, while your dad tried putting you back to sleep, the rest of us—me, Camila, Danilo, and Maria Fernanda—played UNO. We could hear you upstairs, practically tearing the house apart with your laughter and squeals. The UNO game dragged on so long that we gave up. By 4:30 or 5:00 AM, we finally headed to bed. You only fell asleep around 5:30, just as the sun was rising.

    Escreva algo…

    Despite everything, it was a unique and fun New Year’s celebration. I hope we get to do it again. Of course, I missed my parents, but I know everyone had fun in their own way. Happy New Year, my love. Here’s to an even better year ahead.



    @nati_nina

    @nati_nina