The story of me, first chapter.

As long as I can remember I always thought I was different. Well I guess almost every single child thinks they are special for a while, since in the first part of their life it's like the whole universe spins around them.

But I was always different, even in that sense. I remember crying without knowing why on father's day in pre school, as my teacher told me if you don't have a father just draw something else. I wasn't crying because I didn't had a father, I was crying because that made me different from the rest, I didn't want to be different, I wanted to be the same.

Growing up I started to realize little by little just how different my life really was. My house consisted of two family members, besides me, my illiterate grandfather who was the wisest man I ever met, and my autistic mother who suffered from epilepsy. Sure I had other family, a uncle and an aunt, a godmother that made my days brighter, and two "borrowed" grandparents that were basically our landlords but treated me as if I was their own grandchild.

Memories are fuzzy and confusing from those days, but some things were burned forever in my mind, and even though at the time I was very little I remember them as clear as if they had happen yesterday. I will never forget the night when my godmothers best friend came to our house, I knew something was wrong, I could feel it from all of the commotion and strange things happening that day, but watching her come knock on our door at night was by far the strangest. Something was wrong, she would never be there if everything was right. That grown up figure standing outside my house and calling my name made my heart stop and as she kneel down and put her hands on my shoulders my young little mind was already waiting for the words I didn't want to hear.

Sorry Joao, Leopoldina, my "borrowed grandmother", passed away, she has gone to heaven now. The shock was too much for my 4 year old mind, my gut was twisted, my eyes started flowing and I cried myself to sleep on my living room couch, screaming and gripping my pillow until my body and my mind finally gave up.

Every thing changed from that day, no more home made cooking made by an angel, no more stories and adventures, on the house above mine. Years have passed but her image is still stuck in my mind, and all the good memories we shared will never fade away.

My "borrowed grandfather", Antonio, was my first teacher, he taught me how to do math and write simple words even before I started school. I remember fondly helping him in the garden, building a fence for the chickens, or painting a shed for his tools. He had little ducks once, and we even built a small lake for the young ducklings, their side of the garden was like my own little wonderland. He taught me so many great things but even that stopped when she died, he became more and more reclusive and just started waiting day by day, for the embrace of the grim reaper, hoping it would take him back to her.

Still I tried very hard to cheer him up, I was constantly there in my free time, browsing his old library, playing with my Godmothers old board games and puzzles, she is their actual granddaughter.  

But even that was not enough. I watched his health deteriorate, I watched my mother doing her best to take care of him, countless times I would refuse to leave and they ended up placing a mattress on my Godmothers old room for me to sleep in.

He passed away when I was thirteen, on a Tuesday... this was the second saddest day of my life,.. 

I had a lot of friends growing up, my oldest one is still around today, and we keep confiding in each other even though our lives are now too far apart.

Most of the lessons I learned in life I learned from them, from watching how they were and how their parents acted with them. My mom, as much as I love her, lives in her own world, she did the best she could, but for me she was always someone I needed to protect and teach, not the other way around.

I remember when she took me to the Zoo, we used to do that a lot when I was young, she had a epileptic seizure in the middle of the train and dragged me out before we reached our stop. She was lost and confused after the seizure, she always is. I remembered being scared that day, I was about five or six years old, stuck in a strange and empty train station with a mother who couldn't reply to my questions, and seemed more lost than I was. I think my brain did the only thing it could and forced her to stay sill in the platform to wait for the next train, hoping that by that time it arrived she would have regained her wits and guide us to our destination.

As time passed and this little episodes happen again and again, I learned to deal with this the best I could. Most of the times I would just need to wait for her to regain control of her own mind and avoid the surrounding crowds from taking her away. I remember being so used to this that whenever I heard my mom speak "Oh my god", No matter where I was or what I was doing I knew she was having a seizure, so I would just keep an eye on her and wait it out.

But as much as I tried to protect her, she still had her own mind. She had a boyfriend when I was young, and because of him I started school in a private college near my house. It was his decision and my mom just went along with it. This was perhaps, even though I didn't knew it at the time, the best wrong decision anyone ever made with my life. Those six school years I spent there where simply blissful, even though the monthly payments were about the same amount my mother received from her forced retirement, that school provided me with the best education I could hope to get in my early years. Thanks to those years, and my personal experiences, my mind developed in a way it wouldn't have in a different school.

I made friends for life in that school, despite only one of them remaining in my life. The people I met there showed me a completely different world from the one I knew. From the huge Lego collections, to the multiple computer games and tv channels available, their amazing big houses and loving families. And most of all they showed me that there was more to life than what I had. They showed me just how different I was from them and at the same time, in their kindness, always made me feel like a part of their world.

To be continued...

Thorn apart

There is a place hidden between the mist and the rain, a home away from home where when the sun shines it's always brighter. A city filled with beauty, a mixture of green between the grey and brick red of the buildings.

It's a city of new beginnings, a city of warm hearts composed of seducing melodies and filled with ghosts of the past. A cultural pot of customs, progress and weirdness. Where creativity runs wild and kindness is ever present.

This place slowly took me in, beating into my soul the hardships of the past and in the end, like the heavy hand of a caring father, left a void that I struggle to fill ever since I left.

I have travelled far, but with every decision, every choice in my path, this city draws me closer.

There is no other place on earth like it, not for me at least, and if leaving my home-town was hard at the time I had no idea I would ever miss a place so much.

I miss my life there, like if when I left part of me refused to leave and stayed behind. It's my new home, the city I was craving all those years ago when my mind kept telling me leave.

I am thorn apart, between the job I adore and the city I love.

It's funny how whenever I cross that border and that place draws near, my soul feels cleansed, renewed, like all the sorrows and all the tears are washed away. Just by seeing that white cross on that blue background my heart starts racing in anticipation of that place, and it's people.

Because a city is never complete without people, and for me, by chance or struck of luck, I found the people. The people that truly make that place for me.

I never wanted to leave, and I'm dying to go back.

Twice have I spoken this words with true meaning, for one of those times I already returned, for the other my heart still aches.

I'm coming back. The echo of this line doesn't stop. I don't want it to stop. and one day, I will be able to say, I'm finally home again.

The best in me.

There are few people in this world that manage to bring out the best in me, and all of them are far away now.

I stumble along the road leaning to the walls on a constant basis, like a drunk inebriated by the alcohol in it's blood. I go from nice guy to ass-hole in seconds, I waver in the presence of society and push my feelings aside to brush it off again.

Those people, the ones that make me whole, they're not easy to find. Be it lovers friends or something else they are rare.

I have been blessed and cursed in a few occasions, savouring the bliss of their presence already knowing I was going to lose them in the end. I realize this now but I can't tell what it is, it simply is. Like an invisible connection shared among 2 random people.

I met wonderful people throughout the years, but most of the ones who got close, got close enough to turn me into a monster, a beast with a famine big enough to devour the world.

But then there are those, who rip me away from the line, warm up my heart and make me smile like if nothing else in the world mattered.

When I'm near them I feel at peace, complete, I'm happy.

Just sharing a moment, even a digital one makes my brain fire, makes my aching heart heal. They turn me into the best version of myself, and even though I keep trying on my own i never seem to be able to reach the same state without them.

My brothers in arms, my borrowed sister, my foreign family, my one true blood and my eternal friend. They all bring me together, and I would tear this world apart to keep them safe.

Because deep inside I know the animal I am, the misunderstood beast that keeps raging and will stop at nothing.

But like a lost animal I keep searching for that one final connection, for that warm smile in a sunny Sunday morning. I'm searching for the final piece, the final cog.

I am the sword, but my Saya is still nowhere to be found.

The sense of the incomprehensible.

I am a psychotic maelstrom of emotions, raging away ripping the tide that keeps reacting to my momentum as I thrust forward. I am a deluded being craving for attention, denying the pain and covering the bruises with success.

A simple loyal soul, lost in a crowd of ghosts and ghouls engulfed in darkness. A shiny ray of dim light piercing the barrier, raping your ideals with the sharpness of my wit.

The beacon at the edge of the cliff, I balance my insanity with shivers of reason, acting abnormal in a normal world filled with strange faces and recurring nightmares. Limited only by the invisible chains set in stone by the compendium of my thoughts I am aware. Aware of my ignorance while I glide trough the nothingness of the now.

Observing with care, caring with patience, I am the patient patient revolving the chair in the middle of the big black hole that makes you whole.

Shackled in the transgression of your aggression I struggle to release, freeing the burden of fate and destiny. Destined to miss my destination I confuse the confused and reflect without the reflection.

You, me and everyone else are bonded by what breaks, what has no consistence in this inconsistent complexity of forms, shapes and blobs. We are one and one we are everyone, smile and laugh while  crying the sadness of joy into the stream of anger that gives form to the contours of  eternity.

My mental flexibility flexes my otherwise unbend-able reality twisting and turning the guts of fiction virtually tearing the rips on the sand.

I am what I am, a mix of lies and truths that compose the symphony of me, screeching between the acoustic energy that floats in this sinkable scenery.

The immortality of the mortal confronted with the memory of the future and became the hope for the past that was written by those who can't write and spoken by the silent.

I follow illogically the logic of fool and rejoice in the ignorance of the wise.

And so in between the chaos of my order I bring to a close what never really started leaving the ones i never met hungering for my immaterial presence reliving the what as yet ceased to exist.

This is a rant, if you're easily offended please skip this text.

This is a rant, pure, simple, harsh.

I'm sick and tired of all this fucking fake smiles and fake ideals.

I'm sick and tired of stupidity, the world is filled with morons and I feel alone because i am not part of their world.

How can you be so hypocritical claiming that the problem is people who do not respect the rules or other peoples freedom when you act exactly the same, just on a level that suits you and not another.

How can you be so blind, a sheep following the path to the slaughter without ever wondering or thinking that there is an alternative.

I'm tired of self righteous bitches who claim they want to be independent but cling to the lamest ass hole because they feel alone. I'm tired of your bullshit, I'm tired of listening to you say you're happy while you smile for the photo, but deep down we both know you are miserable.

I'm tired of this fear of feeling, this fear of committing, this fear of opening up. I'm tired of doing what is supposed to be done, of fitting in of acting like I'm part of this.

I'm tired of the blank stares, of the emptiness behind those eyes that are too ashamed to say they don't understand, they don't care, and they never will.

I'm tired of that stupid phrase, I'm here for you. It's more I'm here for you as long as we are talking about me.

I'm tired of people assuming I'm like the rest, I'm tired of dumbing myself down in order for others to feel at ease around me.

I feel alone, yes dammit I feel alone, but at least now I'm not stuck in that pretend life, in a dead relationship being miserable just because we need to pretend we are happy.

I'm tired of seeing the moves in front of my eyes and having to  hold my tongue because if I speak people will be offended.

I'm tired, so godamn tired of being alone. Alone because you don't understand me, when you try it hurts, thinking hurts, knowledge hurts, when you know you see it clear and when you know you realize that all those perfect lives around you are nothing but facebook posts and stupid camera filters.

I'm tired of the bullshit, of wasted dreams, of wasted opportunity's, of listening for countless hours to your hopes and dreams knowing fully well you have already given up on them.

I'm tired of normal, tired of missing the people who are unique and special.

I cry, I do, when i see slivers of genius and passion i cry, because i know what it means, I know how much heart, blood sweat and tears is behind that song, that book, that message.

I'm tired of all the morons, of all the good, all the bad being wasted on people who prefer to numb themselves only do to the fear of admitting their failure.

I'm tired of morons, and I'm tired of you. I'm tired of pretensious fucking people that think their life has more meaning and their time is more precious.

I don't feel loved, I never have, because no one cares, all they care is them, they are all that matters.

We are lost as a species because we never truly belong, i'm tired of people telling me I never call when they are the ones who ignore me.

I'm tired of all this shit, i'm tired of you him and all alike.

I'm tired of the loudspeakers who want to be heard but have nothing to say, i'm tired of sheep with zero creativity that follow what's hip, listen to what you listen, eat what you eat, or drink or do because that is what everyone else is doing.

I'm tired of seeing a broken system and their broken services being stuck in a loop, eternally suffocating on their own bile and shit and vomit.

I hate you and I can't stand you, I can't abide by your morals when you don't abide by them. I'm tired of being ashamed for being too nice, for caring for trying to help.

I hate your fucking opinion, that non sense argument of we all have importance and tastes. No we don't, some of us have but in the majority what you have is half a brain that you insist in keeping dormant.

I'm tired of seeing smart people dumbing themselves down just because they wouldn't fit in the popular group otherwise.

I'm tired of all your lies, those sordid secrets you have and I despise that image you want to project to the world, of the self righteous prick with nothing to hide but with everything hidden.

I know you lie, i know you betrayed me time and time again, but i have to pretend i don't. I know you speak, about it, i know you find me strange and in need of help,and guess what. I do need fucking help, to put up with all of these morons time and time again.

I'm tired of money, I'm tired of religion, I'm tired of cocky worthless maggots infesting my proverbial mind garden.

I am not alone but I feel alone, because it's depressing knowing that most people refuse to evolve refuse to learn, they are so convinced of their own capabilities they forget to learn. They forget to listen.

I'm tired of screaming. I want to listen and to be listened too.

But no one listens to anything else than the sound of their own voices.

Where the fuck are you, where the fuck have you gone?

Tell me your story and let me get lost in your words, don't be afraid I don't judge, just speak.

Let me do to you what I want you to do to me.

Let me listen.

I'm tired of prejudice, shame, and old habits.

Be who you want to be, not what everybody else wants you too be.

Seek your own path, follow it to the end and i'm sure they will eventually cross. your path and mine, if forever or just for a while it remains to be seen. I might not be the biggest cross road in your life but at least I will be part of one.

Words, the foundation of my reality.

The great late George Carlin once said.


"When it comes to changing the language, I think they make some good points. Because we do think in language. And so the quality of our thoughts and ideas can only be as good as the quality of our language."

His mastery of language and words has been an inspiration since I first stumbled upon him.

The art of weaving words into a web of pure divinity always made me shiver.

Words either spoken or written are weapons of the highest calibre.

They make your emotions rush, your mind wonder, your heart race in your chest. They turn frowns to smiles, they comfort, they make a difference.

When they say more than words, it' just a statement of a limit that shouldn't exist.

Words are important, they convey meaning, they state purpose they enlighten.

I can't remember when my passion for words began, I can't remember when I first picked up a pen to strike the paper with my raw emotions, I can't recall the first time I flushed all of my soul into a tiny piece of paper.

But I did.

I did write, I did open my chest and spilled my feelings on white with ink. sometimes with laughter, sometimes with tears.

Writing made me sane again.

It's the only way I could and can cope, it's the only way I could and can express all that bare and naked part of me that keeps boiling inside.

But I know, my words are still not enough, they are still incomplete.

With every attempt my frustration diminishes, with every type my limit widens, the formula becomes clearer, becomes easier.

I learn when I weave strings of letters, I evolve just as much as my writing every moment I transform my thoughts and ideas into readable code.

For me writing, and pretty much everything else in my life, has to be fully understood. Once I can de-construct and reverse engineer something, expose the cogs and wheels that make it work, I can then create it from scratch, improve what was before, or simply understand it's beauty and mastery.

Writing has taught me so many important lessons, it has allowed me to understand so many masterpieces, so many strokes of geniality, not only in other texts, everywhere. Writing, and reading, made me who I am today. Ad even though if I can't really pinpoint the first text I wrote on my own volition I remember fondly, being maybe ten or eleven years old, the time when I picked up my first master piece, the first book I read that made my mind explode with thought and my chest burst with anxiety. Anxiety to get to that next page, to get to that next chapter.

The book was twenty thousand leagues under the sea by Jules Verne in case you're wondering

So with my writing I evolved as a person, and now I start to understand  the words that compose the foundation of our reality.

So I want to dedicate this text to all of those that helped my passion develop. This is for the ones who made those words and to the ones who are still doing them. The words that blew my mind away. Some when I first read them, some that took me several attempts to finally fully understand what I was reading.

So thank you, I bow to your mastery, now watch me develop mine.

My life is my favourite book.

I'm old god-dammit. I was so busy being a kid I never realized I grew old. At some point in my adventure I became an adult without ever noticing it. It's funny, a few years ago an ex-girlfriend told me, "you think you are all grown up but when you get to my age you realize that your view of the world has changed. No matter how mature you think you are you can't understand it right now. You need to wait a few years before it happens." And it did.

My friends are old too, getting married, having kids, trying to keep up.

I made my choices, they made theirs, and I'm sure some of them still don't realize it, but they will at some point. They will wake up one day and think, how did this happened. Well at least that's how it went for me.

I'm old and that's fine.

I have very little regrets about my journey, I'm not even halfway there, I'm almost halfway  through the book of my life and the story just keeps getting better and better. Even now I can look back at the chapters I've read and remember fondly all of those epic lines that filled the pages. It's astonishing how many great characters this book encloses, all of the twists and turns, all of the tears and laughs they contributed to the book. And I'm sure there are a lot of characters that have yet to leave their mark on the story.

It's wonderful how the pages have evolved, how the characters have grown, and it's true you can't have a great story without extraordinary characters in it. And my book as so many of them, some came and went, others came and never left the pages, some might return in the future but each and everyone of them is unique, and I'm sure their story is just as amazing as mine.

But my favourite is my book.

And right now, on my mind one thing echoes, one spark of curiosity leaves me daydreaming on those rainy days. Will my book at some point become part of another book, will it include other main characters. I hope so, but even if it doesn't it's fine.

Either way it's such a great book, it's my book, and I'm not scared of reaching the end chapter, I just hope I can make the ending calm and peaceful, so that when I reach that chapter I'm able to tell all the new readers how exciting and fulfilling it's been.

I hope my book can inspire new reader. Inspire them to write their own books, pushing them to create their own adventure, filled with emotions, great characters and unimaginable twists. And I hope it will be remembered for a while, or who knows for more than a while, so that in that way the story can live longer then it's author, leaving behind hundreds of dedicated readers.

That is my biggest hope, for this story to live on, long after the final letter, that final stroke of ink.has left it's mark on that white page.