1. i miss the way we used to argue

a car, a bus, a train, and then a flight to paris; i dream of you and the quai de seine; we’ll buy some wine and walk around holding hands.

the joy and now, the pain.

what are we even doing here?

i thought of many ways i could start this letter; maybe i should start from where it all began, or perhaps from where it all ended.…

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there’s a subtle, almost magical difference between the moment lived and the moment remembered.

when we are experiencing something, time seems liquid; it slips through our fingers quickly.

we are so immersed in the experience that we can barely notice the details.

but when we look back, everything seems different. memory transforms a moment into something eternal.

the scorching heat on our skin, the swim that refreshes the soul, the high-pitched sound of passing motorcycles that got lost in the hairpin curves of the amalfi coast.

my incessant desire to capture each moment, as if they were going to disappear from my memory.

in our rush to live, we don’t even realize how quickly the present passes.

because, deep down, we are just getting by.

and so, without realizing it, the things that weren’t good for me began to mix with everything i was trying to live.

the cold morning breeze as i walked down a hill to watch the view contrasted with the storm i carried inside.

the relationship with the people around me seemed as fragile as the waves crashing against the cliff rocks.

it’s as if time, when it passes, leaves a mark with a touch of nostalgia, coloring everything with a different ink.

the light looks more golden, the sound of laughter is clearer, the smell of the sea is saltier.

in the moment, the rush of living distracts us. but when we remember something, our hearts have time to rest, to savor what before seemed just, every day.

and i think that’s the greatest gift of memory; it gives us back what we can’t hold on to.

we live, learn, and move on, carrying within us memories that, together, form our history.

maybe that’s what time does to us. it doesn’t erase what was difficult, but mixes everything with the beauty that we couldn’t see in the moment.

these images are pieces of a time that has passed,

but that still lives,

here inside.

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live, life goes by too fast.

february 2, 2026 - ferrel, portugal

december 2024: back in paris after a couple months in tokyo, i lived in a limbo of sadness and fear, not knowing what to do with myself or my life at that point. 2025 really started for me at the end of february. i didn’t know then, but the same feeling that made me contemplate giving up, also allowed me to start over, to ask myself if being in paris, chasing what i had been dreaming of for the past years, was still important to me. the answer was no, not at all, but you probably already know that, i wrote about endings here before.

so there i was, end of february, starting over, not knowing which direction to go towards, but at least i was starting to move, forward.

many nights in that big apartment in the 1er arrondissement, funny to think of the number of people that walked through that door, shared a glass (or more) of wine with me. at moments i laughed, others i cried; felt alone, but also surrounded by joy, meeting new people, making new friends, having late-night conversations, or going for a bike ride in the middle of the night. the cold wind cutting through my lips and fingers, i’d just ride, no route planned. l’arc de triomphe, la tour eiffel, les invalides, passed by le jardin du luxembourg, and cut straight up back to rive droite. i’d pass by place vendôme; and head up.

i used to ride in front of your building in rue de londres and think about what you were doing and who you were with, or why. until i didn’t anymore. like you, i had to move on. the trips started, and it felt natural to be doing that. even though i was now flying alone, i was never alone once i landed. i would say hi to strangers in the middle of the street, compliment their looks and outfits; countless smiles while i crossed paths with someone on the street. i never felt so free like i did in 2025.

i started to understand that life didn’t need to be complicated, how i always made it up to be; i didn’t wish the things i had wished the years before. i remember the years i lived in connecticut after graduating high school; i would take the train to new york city almost every weekend. no city ever made me so happy before; at least not until i lived in ibiza. gosh, i was so young back then, but during that period from 2016 to 2020, that henrique walked so today i could run, or ride.

success, money, fame; we have so much ambition and don’t even know what to do with it. the chase for validation from the self and others. will i be more if i have this job, or this amount of money, or wear these clothes, or walk with these people, go here and there. will any of these make me a happier man? i found out that not having those things also didn’t mean i wouldn’t be a happier man. my mum came to visit me last summer, i remember driving across croatia with her for a week, and for the first time i could look in her eyes and tell her i was a happy person, i was completely fullfilled with the experiences i had in my life, and that if i died tomorrow i would have lived an extremely enjoyable life, i didn’t regret my decisions, and i learned that life wasn’t this whole complicated thing that people make it be.

i’m not scared of death; i’m scared of not living enough, of wasting my time chasing things that won’t make life feel worth living. 2025 taught me life was much more. we grow up thinking our parents know it all, that they have the answers to everything. i always tried to be a child that didn’t cause any trouble; ‘stay in your lane, don’t cause any trouble; they’re already busy enough having to manage their work, their own lives and problems, and also being the best parents they can be’. i guess everyone, in one way or another, wants to make their parents proud: go to university, graduate, get a nice job, a stable life. i can’t say the thought of doing the exact opposite of all of that didn’t make me think they wouldn’t be proud of who i became, and how i chose to live my life. they never fully understood or agreed with me, but they have always respected my decisions.

2025 - if you can’t change the wind, change the direction of the sail

many nights in an apartment in paris,

drove two thousand kilometers across japan;

trekked the himalayas,

ate oysters in champagne,

pizzas in a laundromat,

and ramen in osaka;

spent a week alone in the italian alps,

got a new passport at the brazilian embassy in bangkok,

and food poisoning in thailand.

watched the sunset in lago di lecco,

and the sunrise on a train across india.

got drunk in barcelona,

stole posters in amsterdam,

cried looking at mount everest,

cried looking into your eyes.

speedran through shanghai,

bought a sun-bleached t-shirt in oman,

and bathed in onsen houses in kyoto;

swam in the adriatic sea,

bought a next-day flight to valencia,

talked to strangers,

made friends,

felt and gave love;

walked through richmond park,

tried to catch a rainbow in cinque terre,

watched a storm from your bedroom window.

danced at fête de la musique,

had wine at canal saint-martin,

lattes in jardin des tuileries,

and beers in buttes-chaumont;

took a boat through the ganges river,

pushed a piano up the street in belleville,

saw bodies being cremated in varanasi,

and sunbathed at place des vosges;

made burgers in london,

negronis in croatia,

and carbonara in milan.

slept in cars, sofas, floors, airport benches, deflated mattresses, wood bungalows and king-size beds in a castle.

ended the year with snowball fights in andorra and drinking coffee in portugal;

said hello and goodbye

many, many times.

2025 showed me i can live the way i want, even if that means sleeping in a car to be in japan, or walking up india’s oldest trekking trail through the himalayas in only four days because my visa is expiring.

my 2025 started at the end of february, and again, 2026 is starting at the end of february. to think of the person i was one year ago, to who i am now.

i’m embarking on a five-month self-supported bikepacking trip across southeast asia, passing by 10 countries and ending in japan, once again. somehow i make all roads end in japan.

it won’t be easy, and i will admit that i’m scared of how hard this will be.

to new starts, to new years, to new and old friends, to nights crying and nights laughing, thank you to everyone that i had the pleasure to meet and enjoy life with this year, even if for just one night.

goodbye for now, i’ll meet you on the road.

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october 26, 2025 - srikhola, india

1. ‘wait a moment, sir, he’ll be here shortly.’

sitting in the office at the ministry of affairs, singalila national park, india: as a man types my passport and visa information at my last checkpoint of my days inside the park, i hear the clock on the wall ticking; it’s white, simple, and cheaply made looking.

something clicks on me, i want to write about this moment, i can’t use my phone here, so i’m doing my best to pay attention to absolutely everything i can.

the notice of ‘‘no photos/videos’’ printed on a basic sheet of office paper has already faded;

from the chair i’m sitting, through a square window i see the darchogs, traditional tibetan prayer flags, set on poles in mountains or rooftops to spread blessings, compassion, and goodwill as the wind moves through them. indeed they’re waving a lot.

it’s a sunny day, clear blue sky.

back inside: the unmistakable scent of old furniture, this checkpoint looks very different from the other fifteen i’ve had to give my passport in the last four days. but just like the others, i don’t think many people are sitting on this chair every day. i haven’t seen a single foreigner since i arrived in manebanjang on tuesday; today is sunday.

people look at me as if i shouldn’t be there; it has been like that since i arrived in india. a zoo animal, an alien, a naked man, a six-foot-tall white kid from brazil, from the world.

the difference is that here at nepal and india border, they look at me wanting to know what i’m doing here, where do i come from, and where i’m going; they want me to try black tea with fresh cow milk and salt, taste yak meat, eat aludum and all kinds of tibetan and nepali dishes; they want me to look at them with a smile and say namaste. man, i lost count of how many times i said that word in the past five days.

i didn’t expect to arrive on the first day and hear from my homestay accommodation that i was their fourth foreigner guest to stay there in the last four years.

in my head, i couldn’t stop asking myself, why. why are there no foreigners coming here to do this trail? how can people not want to go up the highest mountain in west bengal, do the oldest trekking trail in india, where from the peak of sandapkhu mountain you can see four of the five highest mountains in the world.

back to the office: he asks me how many days i’ll stay in darjeeling; since my visa ends tomorrow, i tell them one night, he repeats the question, i repeat the answer.

me and my guide, roni, step outside the building. it’s bright out, pass by a gate guarded by military men.

i ask roni, so, that’s it? we say goodbye now? he says with his broken english, yeah, it’s goodbye now. we hug each other, i tell him to be safe, and head towards the jeep that will take me back to darjeeling.

2. how many can you fit in a jeep?

i enter the cab; there are three rows of seats. i’m in the middle backseat, three kids to my left, a lady with another kid to my right. we are fifteen at the moment, yes, fourteen other people, my knees still in pain from having trekked almost one hundred kilometers in the past four days, a metal rail from the seats in front smashes into my knee caps at every bump and turn; and these roads are basically just bumps.

i’m definitely too tall to be sitting in the middle backseat of this jeep, or for basically anything in this country.

wearing, from top to bottom:

the beaten-down vintage goodyear cap i wear ninety percent of the time, despite having about twenty other hats;

the cool kid chimi sunglasses;

around my neck a yellow and gold khata, a ceremonial scarf commonly used in tibetan, nepali, and some indian himalayan cultures. given to me by my last hosts, it represents a sign of respect, goodwill, and happiness for my onward path;

the full of history dark navy oman tee i bought in muscat for less than an espresso it’s worth in paris; showing a muslim and a camel, with the words habibi oman barely visible in black;

the calvin klein underwear is definitely staying in india, this one has seen better days;

still wearing the h&m light summer pants my friend left behind when he flew to bali two weeks ago, they’re too big on me as well, so they’re also staying here, they’ve done enough keeping me half warm during the freezing mornings we rushed to the viewpoints with hopes of seeing the first beam of sunlight hitting the top of mount everest;

the grey nike socks are on the verge of getting holes on their bottoms, they’ll also stay behind.

the (way too expensive running shoes for someone who doesn’t run) my friend asked me to bring to asia because he wanted a running partner; in almost three months, he still haven’t bought his pairs of running shoes. i guess they finally served a purpose besides just taking up a lot of room in my bag;

the onitsuka tiger mexicos are hanging from the trekking backpack i borrowed from my homestay host in darjeeling. they’ve got me up the mountains, so i’m giving them a little rest.

as of now, there are sixteen people in the car. i just realized a man is hanging onto the car from the outside.

3. it’s getting harder to type.

roni was supposed to be in this jeep too, but the driver told him they didn’t have anymore seats available, i wonder how he’s doing. from srikhola, it’s fifty four kilometers of roads to get back to manebanjang, his home.

before we said goodbye, he said: i don’t think i’ll find a jeep to take me back, so i’ll walk, that’s the only option. this makes me think of however hard my life can get, there are always people in worse situations than me. i’m complaining about the amount of people inside this car, my body is cramped, my legs hitting a metal rod. well, roni is now walking home.

as two more people get in the car, the total now is eighteen. i wonder if i should write about the past days here, but i think it’s better to leave that for a separate letter.

the driver keeps dropping people off and picking up others. it’s been four hours already, we should be in darjeeling; however, we are still far from there, my legs can’t take the pain anymore, now it’s not only the knees, it’s everything.

i don’t want to write anymore.

4. the icing on the cake

one hour has passed, and we’ve just got a flat tire.

half of the passengers got out, so i get a little room to stretch my legs.

the driver is changing the tire while smoking what seems to be his tenth cigarette since this trip started.

i can only think of arriving, it’s close to sunset now.

i ended up having to delete the spotify app from my phone this week to free up space for the videos i’m making using the iphone, so i can’t even listen to music right now.

there’s no more to write, and i can’t communicate with anyone here.

we’re getting closer to darjeeling, the car is almost empty, i just jumped to the seat in front of mine, got the cash ready to pay him.

i’m asking him to stop close to my homestay, so i don’t have to walk back from the railway station.

ok, just got out, the price was three fifty, but he only gave me a hundred rupies change for my five hundred bill. i’m too tired to argue with him, so i let that one pass.

i’m craving western food: pizza, burgers, italian pasta, brownies.

as hard as this ride might have been, it’s now in the past, and i got a letter from it, memories i won’t forget, a nice story to tell.

have you been in a jeep with seventeen other people? cause i have.

this journey took seven hours.

my time in india ends tomorrow; okinawa, japan is my next stop. see you there, bye.

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live, life goes by too fast.

1. everything everywhere all at once.

october 1, 2025 - jaipur, india

i turned 28 last week, does anybody even care? i know i don’t.

i stopped caring a long time ago, about the same time i stopped caring about christmas, new year, and all the things that hold the same perceived value by mostly everyone i know.

i think i was eighteen at the time. being completely lonely while living in connecticut for the first time, i had so much time to be bored, to think of things i never had the chance to think before. being lonely changes you, and i don’t mean being alone, i mean being lonely.

lasting less than twenty-four hours, if i don’t count oman as the first stop of my months-long journey through asia, left is thailand.

coming from three crazy hectic months in europe, where i visited six countries and sixteen cities, some of them three or four times, never slept in the same place for more than six days, i was exhausted, carried a huge storm inside; so many loose ends: yes i’m doing what i wanted since the beggining of the year, but then what? i know i’m looking to find something about myself, or inside myself for that matter, but then what? what will i do after this? what exactly am i looking for?

2. estimated delivery.

together with my good friend matheus, i spent a week in bangkok, then headed down for thirty days on the island of phangan. i’ll skip the bangkok days on today’s letter; it deserves a letter of its own.

the days on the island started a little chaotic; it took us a few days to find our own grounds. we got a place for four weeks. crazy to think that for the first time since tokyo ten months ago, i would sleep in the same bed for longer than two or three weeks.

we decided to focus on our work and projects for the first weeks. things started strong, i released my first few letters on substack, posted two videos on youtube, selected and edited hundreds of pictures that were long overdue. i wasn’t going to the beach or enjoying what the island had to offer at that time, and frankly, i don’t even think i was bothered by that. making progress on my projects made me happy and less anxious.

i had also told myself i was gonna dial down on my coca-cola (a big problem) and alcohol (not a problem) intake, which i did.

we were eating all kinds of things over there, from trying scorpion and snakes, to having all kind of fried things on a stick, from pre-made sushi to a fried pork with rice dish that cost just shy of one euro fifty.

are we playing with fire, we wondered. indeed, we were, or at least i was.

just before finishing my last newsletter, i started feeling a headache, i could tell my body temperature was rising, and something was off. we wondered if it could be dengue, as i thought to myself, ‘’the hell i came all the way from brazil to get dengue here’’

and so it began, a week-long of all food poisoning symptoms you can think of (self-explanatory).

i didn’t edit, didn’t write, didn’t record nor photograph anything. i just wanted it all to be over.

3. billionaire poor.

october 9 - mumbai, india

here i am, it’s been eight days, i haven’t written this letter anymore. i’ve written other things, but not this, what i told myself i would.

sitting at the lobby of the hotel taj mahal palace, i try to say something:

again, i stopped, broken, shattered

is it too heavy for me to carry

too bright for me to look at

too hot for me to hold on to

crawling on my own shards

how can i start and not finish

why

it has always been like this

a new idea

a new place

a new step

i leave the baggage behind

one i don’t deem enough to bring along

is it just my eyes looking the other way

and even if i could carry all of it with me

i don’t think i would

there’s so much on my mind these past weeks, i find it hard to tell it the way i wish right now. i’m writing in other ways, ways i don’t want to share. i miss people, i miss places, i miss europe (only a bit though), or do i just miss the feelings i had there, the ones i left behind, the ones i can’t have here. i long, every day, it is like a movie, on loop.

thailand was, for the lack of a better expression, a shitshow, and that has nothing to do with the food poisoning; if the shoe fits…

emotions; feelings; people, few i know, most i don’t, if thailand was heavy, india is heavy in a whole different way, one on the heart, the other on the mind, perhaps. even for the guy who moves places every two weeks, and i don’t mean that in a bad way, or good for that matter; just heavy.

i guess that’s why every night we come hang out at the 5-star hotel lobby and bar, where barack obama, john lennon and yoko ono have stayed before. where, while i write this, in the backside room of this bar, the united kingdom prime minister eats his dinner.

this couldn’t be further away from the fifteen-euro-a-night rooms we’ve been sleeping on, sharing with mosquitoes and bugs that crawl on top of the mattress during the night. it is short-lived, but it also tells so much about us: ugly and beautiful; fragile and tough; thirsty and full at the same moment. a life that’s worth living. i learned not to fight it.

i think a billionaire poor lives better like this.

4. when all we want to do is be.

october 12 - on a fourteen-hour train ride from varanasi to new jalpaiguri, india

i’ve been feeling happy, mad, sad, anxious, calm, all in the same day. something hurts, i wonder what it could be.

i’ve been crying way less than before, i don’t like it; i like crying, it’s a visual cue that tells me i’m having time to process my feelings. not crying makes me more sad, i miss crying every day.

a part of me wants to write about india on this letter, but another wants to let it all sink in, to be a sponge, hold as much as i can inside, then squeeze it all out, in words, in photos, in videos, in stories.

i find myself just wanting to be.

i always tell myself things are not ready, not good enough to post or share.

i’ll share this one as it is. imperfect, incomplete, unfinished.

i’ll write about ‘thailand, the month of september, and turning 28’ on another day.

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hey, thanks for reading all the way through. please consider subscribing so you don’t miss my next letters.

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in case you’re wondering ‘what time can’t take away’, they’re called ‘memories’.

to continue my habit of sharing my current playlists, here is my latest one:

i would appreciate if you could also give me a follow on instagram, that’s the platform i’m most active on.

live, life goes by too fast.

sep 10, 2025 - koh-phangan, thailand

verses from the song ‘End Of Summer’ by Tame Impala, released on the 25th of july, in the middle of an ending:

Everybody knows how I feel about you

So you can act surprised if you need to

And I am still your friend if you think it's worth it

It just means that I'll see you when I see you

I could not deny it was overwhelming

Living out our lives for just one thing

And right now I would love to put my arms around you

Even if I know it would mean nothing, nothing

I know I can seem uncaring in moments like these

I just hope it's enough to say my words don't come with ease

And I'm sure that you won't believe, but you'll be on my mind

I waited 'til the end of summer and I ran out of time

-to me, summer ended on the 20th of august, same day i left amsterdam and started an (unknown end) trip to asia.

1. said summer ending perdured for exact 53 days.

amsterdam - the warm night from the 28th to the 29th of june: that was when my last ending began; i had just arrived from barcelona, where i’d spent a few days after coming from paris, the city i got to call home for a little over a year. the feeling of home was never realized inside me while living in the city of love.

being a nomad, having left brazil almost ten years ago now, endings and goodbyes are frequent. people, friends, lovers, a couch, a bathroom mirror, a keychain, a view out the window. i had to learn saying goodbye to anything and everything, as hard as it can be; that’s my life, and now more than ever, it’s how i’m choosing to live.

it’d be foolish of myself to say it doesn’t hurt, that i don’t cry, that i don’t reminisce of the endings, that i don’t wish things could go differently sometimes; and every once in a while, an ending hits me like a fucking tractor.

before that night, the last and perhaps hardest (and biggest) ending i had to face in my life had happened about seven months before, coming back to paris after a few months in tokyo. she was still with me, we got on the airplane together; got the rental car at charles de gaulle airport so we could move all our things, and with that, move on our own ways; spent the first few nights back in paris sleeping on the same bed.

2. she was still with me, but there was nothing of us anymore.

the feeling of emptiness mixed with grayness from the last few days of autumn in paris: cold outside, colder on the inside; she would go to class while i was in our storage unit unpacking all the bags and boxes we had, on an attempt to separate what was hers and what was mine.

who’s keeping the coffee machine? what about the vacuum cleaner, or the sodastream, or the books?

would you like to keep the champagne and wine glasses? i’m not drinking so i think you’d have a better use of them, she said.

remember when i said some endings are harder than others? i guess that was the exact moment i realized the pain was only getting worse, the void was only getting bigger, the days were only getting colder.

where do i even take these glasses to?, i asked myself. different from me, she had found a flat to live in until the end of her studies. the same flat we almost moved into a year before. flat in which we had our last night together, holding hands, trying to look into each other's eyes while tears slid down our cheeks, both scared of the future, but at the same time knowing that was the only way out of the craters we dug into ourselves.

3. the ‘every days’.

for a few months i contemplated giving up, moving back to brazil, calling it quits, i was burning through all my savings to stay alive in paris, and at that point it could be anywhere, i was always inside anyway, moving every week, some of them tiny bedroom-like studios, some of them big 2-bedroom-apartments in the 1er arrondissement de paris; ironicly i would end up spending many days in the heart of paris, that huge apartment only made me feel more empty and heartless; the shades were shut at all times, i would go days without seeing a single person; a huge contrast from someone who lives his life making connections with people from all over the world.

hidding under a faded carhartt hoodie and the cool kid chimi sunglasses, i’d leave only to buy groceries downstairs: frozen pizzas; a couple of coca-cola packs; and kinder chocolate; the list was short. i’ve kept myself occupied between cleaning the apartment and eating as much chocolate i possibly could before my throat started itching from the sugar there was in it; all of that while watching youtube videos for hours on end.

i always enjoyed cleaning, i was always the one who cleaned, but now that wasn’t serving any purpose: why am i cleaning if there’s no one here? turns out spending my days hopping from the couch to the bed, or the other way around, meant nothing would get dirty. those were the darkest days; the darkest every days.

4. i kept cleaning anyway; every single day.

after three months i started to hit the ground running, started realizing i could do it on my own once again; that whatever she was doing and whoever she was with was non of my business.

healing felt good, i knew that after healing from her, i would also have to heal from myself, and all the bad i had caused to my body and mind, but that would turn out to take longer than i anticipated.

so up and down he goes: amsterdam, milan, dolomites, back to paris for a few days, then croatia, le mans, champagne, a few days of work and fairytale-like experiences in paris, barcelona, and finally, the night on which this letter started, amsterdam, end of june.

is he running to something or running from something?

5. Sky.

she shone bright like the Sky, even under that oversized crewneck sweater and after a long day of work; her smile: impossible to forget; her acid humor as she said ‘henrique’ sounded like a cocktail name. her body was art, in a literal sense. in those 53 days i learned that it takes something i would never have to be a professional athlete.

we both knew that we were only having some drinks, it’s just another date, that’s what i want, i told myself; that’s what she wanted, she later told me. it could only be drinks, i was in amsterdam for 5 days, i was leaving to asia in less than two months. in a blink of an eye, only drinks became 5 days together, the first 5 days of the only vacation time a professional ballerina gets a year. time went by fast, but when i think about those days, they play in slow motion on my mind.

back to paris, then off to milan he goes. they kept in touch, they had so much time in their hands, she went to switzerland for a few days, they had plans to meet in london at the end of the month. so they thought.

two weeks before london she came to see him in milan, they went to lago di lecco and cinque terre, she left to barcelona for the weekend, they met 3 days later in valencia: i remember that, we bought my tickets at 2 am the night before, so i had to wake up, pack and leave to the airport as fast as i could.

then london; felt good to be in london again, having lived there half of her life, she showed me around the neighborhoods, the house she grew up in, the prestigious ballet school she attended before graduating and moving back to amsterdam.

as the days passed, we’d get more entranced by each other, blind from hapiness, and what seemed to be an endless summer; i was always going to leave to asia, since day one that was clear to both of us, we just seemed to have forgotten that said day was eventually going to arrive. and once again we’d have to say goodbye.

6. “Don’t Be Afraid To Eat The Burger’’

coming back to amsterdam from london had a bittersweet taste, work was starting again for her, and i was getting more stressed as each day went by. how are we going to clean after this mess we’ve made? i wondered; i’m sure she did too.

day by day, our summer was coming to an end, i could see the pain in her eyes, i could see the pain as she tangled her legs with mine before falling asleep every night, or as she made cute noises while i had my hand roaming up and down her back. i wasn’t the best company during those last few days, like the weather in amsterdam, it was raining inside too; i was lost, i worried about her, and i knew i was about to do the last thing i wanted at that point: hurt her.

i still remember her face when i walked out the door for the last time.

writing this makes me wonder if i let her in too much, if i went in too deep. too deep to just turn and leave, to move to the other side of the world, to go ‘fully heal from myself’.

i don’t have the answer for any of these, not yet; will i ever have?

only we know how our summer ended; we were the only ones living in those 53 days, and i’ll keep it this way.

7. day 54, or 1, you choose.

i’m still healing, and even after fully healed, the scars never go away, we just have to learn how to live with them, learn to see the beauty of our mistakes, beauty of the people that came and left, the sleepless nights crying, the kinder chocolate bars i shouldn’t have eaten. this is all part of life, part of these ever-growing puzzles we call people.

do i even want to do it tomorrow? i guess i’ll find out once tomorrow comes, whenever tomorrow is; you have to live to know.

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hey, thanks for reading all the way through, this is my first english newsletter of many to come, please consider subscribing so you don’t miss my next letters.

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in case you’re wondering ‘what time can’t take away’, they’re called ‘memories’.

i created a playlist dedicated to the end of summer; here it is:

i would appreciate if you could also give me a follow on instagram, that’s the platform i’m most active on.

live, life goes by too fast.

03/09/25 - koh-samui, tailândia

sentado em um speedboat que me leva entre as ilhas de koh-phangan e koh-samui na tailândia, começo essa newsletter.

completo vinte e oito anos em alguns dias, com uma câmera na mão desde os dezesseis, me pergunto o porquê da minha decisão de começar a escrever esse ano.

desde que voltei de tóquio em dezembro do ano passado, percebi que havia chegado a um limite: imagens não eram mais suficientes para explicar, ou, naquele caso, vomitar tudo o que eu tinha dentro de mim.

a volta de tóquio foi solitária, o medo tomava conta do meu corpo. eu não cheguei sozinho em tóquio, eu tinha alguém do meu lado, assim como nos dois anos anteriores, quando atravessamos a europa juntos; uns dias em amsterdã, um mês na toscana, três semanas na suíça, três meses no interior da inglaterra, cinco meses em ibiza, e por fim paris, a cidade que virou casa.

a volta de tóquio foi vazia, mas também foi cheia de incertezas, de inseguranças, de tristeza; paris não fazia mais sentido, eu nunca escolhi paris, a cidade não importava, qualquer lugar servia, assim como muitas das decisões que precisei tomar durante aqueles anos, o “tanto faz” era frequente, arrisco dizer que diário.

paris nunca foi casa, por mais que eu tenha tentado, por mais que nós dois tenhamos tentado; paris era um ponto de parada; sair de lá nunca foi difícil, a volta sempre foi; e ainda é dolorosa.

comumente conhecida como a cidade do amor, entre filmes, livros e casais colocando cadeados em pontes, quando vista de fora, o amor parece presente em cada canto.

ninguém escolhe amar, não se escolhe quando é hora de amar e quando é hora de deixar.

amar pode ser como um cabo de aço: quase impossível de romper, mas que, com o tempo, pode se desgastar até se tornar uma linha fina, pronta para ser cortada em mil pedaços a qualquer momento. irônico, já que ela estudava moda; nosso apartamento vivia cheio de fios de costura espalhados pelo chão. e, assim como essas linhas esquecidas, a nossa relação foi, pouco a pouco, se partindo em mil pedaços.

como um fardo que se tornara impossível de carregar, parei de cuidar como cuidava; não dela, mas de mim; o medo de olhar no espelho e enfrentar a tempestade que passava aqui, de admitir as inseguranças, de parar de fugir.

um amigo me perguntou há uns meses se faço tudo que faço porque procuro algo, ou se estou fugindo de algo. se estou fugindo, não sei do que; eu tive uma infância muito independente, fui morar em porto alegre com a minha mãe depois do divórcio dos meus pais, mas me recusei a estudar na capital, eu tinha amigos em gravataí, cidade vizinha onde morei até os oito anos.

todos os dias, por dois anos, henrique embarcava em uma viagem de uma hora no ônibus da sogil pra ir pra escola; imagino que isso seja até proibido nos dias de hoje.

eu sempre recebi muito amor e carinho dos meus pais, eles foram os melhores pais que eu poderia ter; mas ao mesmo tempo, sempre tivemos uma relação de muita confiança e responsabilidade, do tipo que uma criança não deveria ter; na época nada disso era problema pra mim, afinal de contas eu estava fazendo o que eu mais queria, estudar na escola a uma hora de distância pra estar com meus amigos; e pra falar a verdade, eu não mudaria nada desses anos da minha vida.

anos depois, eu saía do brasil com ela, em direção à europa, sem passagem de volta, sem olhar pra trás; eu já havia feito aquilo outras três vezes, quando morei nos estados unidos; a primeira com dezessete anos, a última com vinte e um; aprendi muito: lavei pratos, limpei banheiros, troquei fraldas, levei na escola e no médico, fui motorista, cortei grama e serrei lenha pro inverno; o maior aprendizado de todos? dar adeus, adeus aos meus pais e amigos, adeus à culinária, adeus aos meus avós, dos quais eu não sabia se teria a chance de rever, adeus a uma parte de mim que ficava com as pessoas que eu amo, pra sempre; eu nunca dei adeus querendo voltar, e de repente dar adeus foi ficando cada vez mais fácil.

é preciso saber dar adeus pra viver como eu vivo, saber dar valor a cada momento, porque na minha vida logo eles acabam. desde tóquio, há mais de nove meses eu não fico por mais de duas ou três semanas sob o mesmo teto, por vezes durmo em cinco camas diferentes em uma semana.

meus pais sempre disseram que me criaram pro mundo, mas a verdade é que eles não sabiam o quão grande era esse tal de mundo.

era a primeira vez dela indo morar fora, era a primeira vez dela dando adeus às pessoas que ela mais ama; eu lembro como se fosse hoje, e eu sabia o quão difícil seria pra ela.

amar também é suportar a dor da perda, amar me fez entender que era necessário deixar; deixar o brasil, deixar quem eu mais amo, deixar o meu quarto, a minha cama, a minha vida, deixar o henrique de oito anos que embarcava naquele ônibus todas as manhãs.

e anos depois amar me fez entender que era necessário deixar; deixar tóquio, deixar nós dois e tudo que contruímos juntos, pra depois destruir num piscar de olhos.

amar me fez entender que era necessário deixar paris; e hoje, olhando pra trás, vejo o quão necessário era.

paris deu, e depois tomou de volta; nunca amei a cidade do amor, talvez por isso ela nunca tenha me amado também.

até hoje eu me pergunto quantos daqueles cadeados nas pontes não representam mais o amor entre dois.

adeus, paris.

09/09/25 - koh-phangan, tailândia

sentado na varanda do que chamo de casa durante essas semanas em koh-phangan, termino essa newsletter.

Deixe um comentário

criei uma playlist no spotify dedicada ao fim do verão, e com isso o fim de muitas coisas na minha vida (não usarei a palavra ‘adeus’ mais uma vez).

tem vídeo novo no youtube quinta-feira, spoiler: o adeus à amsterdam, o perrengue pra arrumar as malas (e a vida) em um dia, pombas, banho de mar com sensação térmica de 38 graus no oriente médio, um tour pela sala vip mais insana que eu já vi, quase perdendo um voo, e 4 países em 96 horas. se inscreve lá pra não perder.

aos que têm interesse em textos em inglês, quinta-feira lanço a minha newsletter ‘what time can’t take away’, onde contarei histórias semelhantes, mas não iguais às que conto aqui.

não poderia me despedir sem falar do meu instagram, plataforma onde sou mais ativo, me deixaria muito feliz se você me desse um follow lá. 💛

vivam, a vida passa rápido demais.

02/09/25 - koh-phangan, tailândia

em um café, de frente para o meu grande amigo, escritor, e agora companheiro de viagem, , tento escrever minha primeira newsletter. eu nunca escrevi, sempre me expressei através de imagens, então posso afirmar que o frio na barriga é presente enquanto escrevo isso.

antes de tudo, queria usar essa primeira oportunidade para me apresentar, e de alguma forma tentar explicar como vim parar aqui.

se alguém aí pegou o trem andando, meu nome é henrique, um dia fotógrafo, hoje mais nômade e artista visual, ou como prefiro dizer, arteiro visual. fui morar pela primeira vez fora do brasil dez anos atrás, antes ainda de completar dezoito anos, com o objetivo de aprender inglês enquanto passava os meus dias limpando banheiros e lavando louça. entre idas e vindas aos estados unidos, uma pandemia no brasil, acabei parando na europa, onde passei meus últimos três anos morando, se é que posso chamar isso de morar.

hoje completam dez dias que deixei a europa em busca do novo, algo que eu deveria ter feito antes, mas me faltava coragem. a primeira parada foi em muscat, capital de omã no oriente médio, onde passei pouco menos de vinte e quatro horas. eu nem consideraria muscat uma parada, mas como vocês descobrirão em uma próxima newsletter, muscat também acabou se tornando parte da minha história.

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o meu objetivo com ‘postais’ é compartilhar relatos da minha vida na ásia, quase que em um forma de diário, e também contar histórias de viagens passadas. acredite, são muitas.

aqui também quero trocar mensagens com vocês, responder perguntas e tirar dúvidas, diferente das outras plataformas onde sou quase inacessível.

o instagram é onde a vida parece perfeita (kk quem dera); o youtube é onde eu me encontro mais vulnerável, mas também é onde tudo chega atrasado; o substack é onde tudo vai acontecer antes: projetos fotográficos novos? vocês terão acesso antecipado, e muitas vezes até me ajudando em alguns aspectos; a vida aqui virou de cabeça pra baixo da noite pro dia? vocês vão receber a versão sem filtro; estou preparando um curso de color grading e gravação de vídeo com o celular? faz de conta que eu não falei. enfim, vocês entenderam.

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encontro vocês toda terça-feira às 9h de algum fuso horário. pelo menos, mas não limitado, uma vez por semana. espero vocês aqui.

Deixe um comentário

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tem vídeo novo no canal hoje, às 12h de brasília.

‘‘e de repente eu não tava la pra ter conexões com ninguém mais além de mim mesmo, e eu não fazia ideia do quanto aquilo era necessário, há meses eu não ficava no mesmo lugar por mais de duas ou três semanas, eu já não tinha um lugar pra chamar de casa há alguns anos, eu me sentia completo, e ao mesmo tempo vazio, a vida era, e a ainda é, como aquela paisagem, repleta de vales e montanhas. algo que até hoje não sei se consigo entender ou explicar por completo.’’

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eu não poderia me despedir sem ao mesmo tempo que recomendar, também agradecer às minhas três maiores inspirações pra ter começado a newsletter.

meu melhor amigo de longa data continua impressionando lá no youtube; mas queria compartilhar um vídeo mais antigo do canal dele, onde conta um pouco da nossa amizade; assista amigo é pra essas coisas (um pouco egocêntrico da minha parte?)

meu companheiro de viagem, que tem uma das maiores newsletters do substack , publicou um texto que me arrepiei lendo: Os fins

tem arrasado aqui no substack, mas eu queria compartilhar um projeto lindo que ela tem no instagram; siga precisaquedesenhe

por último mas não menos importante, gostaria de compartilhar o meu próprio instagram, onde há anos venho postando com frequência, mas nunca cresci.

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vivam, a vida passa rápido demais.

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