CANTO DA CEREJA

  You know that moment when life decides to remind you that you’re not in control of anything? Well, here I am again, staring into the face of my old nemesis: FRUSTRATION .  It shows up uninvited, kicks down the door, and makes itself at home like it’s been waiting for this moment all along. And what do I do? Nothing. Because the truth is, I don’t know how to handle it. I never have. Oh, but the cherry on top? The well-meaning comments from people around me.  “It’ll get better,” “You just have to stay positive,”  or my personal favorite,  “Everything happens for a reason.”  Oh, really? What’s the reason, then? To drive me into a complete meltdown? Thanks, but I didn’t ask for a motivational speech. The Only Solution: Leave Me Alone No, seriously. Just don’t talk to me. Not because I don’t care about you, but because when frustration takes over, my mind stops functioning like a normal human being’s. I can’t think clearly, I can’t process things rationally, a...

  Há momentos em que a espera por uma notícia parece consumir-nos lentamente. Sabemos o que está para chegar. Conseguimos ver o desfecho a formar-se, peça por peça. E, no entanto, quando a confirmação finalmente chega, ainda somos atingidos por um murro emocional – aquele desconforto silencioso e inevitável que não conseguimos ignorar. Mas porque é que algo que já esperávamos ainda consegue doer? Talvez seja porque, enquanto há espera, há uma brecha para a esperança. Mesmo sabendo, racionalmente, que o desfecho está decidido, parte de nós anseia por um desvio do destino, uma reviravolta, um milagre. É esse espaço entre o “provável” e o “e se” que mantém a incerteza viva e o nosso coração em suspensão. Quando a realidade nos confronta, não há para onde fugir. Aquele conforto frágil da dúvida desaparece. Ficamos sozinhos com a verdade – e com as emoções que ela carrega. O Desconforto Silencioso É normal sentir apatia. Talvez um vazio. Ou tristeza, pura e crua. Não há uma reação certa...

  Eu gosto das pessoas incomuns. Das ovelhas negras. Dos patos estranhos. Daquelas que nunca parecem encaixar-se nos lugares onde todos os outros pertencem. Gosto das que caminham à margem, observando em silêncio enquanto o mundo se apressa, distraído . São aquelas que veem a vida de uma forma diferente, que fazem perguntas que ninguém mais ousa fazer. As excêntricas, as artistas, as sonhadoras. Gosto de quem pinta fora das linhas, não porque não saiba seguir as regras, mas porque as regras nunca foram feitas para elas. Tenho uma afinidade profunda com estas almas singulares. Talvez porque também me sinta assim, desalinhada do que a sociedade insiste em rotular como normal. Identifico-me com os que guardam em si uma intensidade que, para muitos, parece estranha ou deslocada. As introspectivas, as pensadoras, aquelas que carregam no coração histórias que poucos conseguem compreender. Há algo de bonito e verdadeiro nessa diferença – não na estranheza, mas na autenticidade. E identif...

  There’s something poetic about the chaos that comes when life crumbles. At first, it feels like betrayal—by the universe, by people, by plans that were so carefully crafted. You sit in the wreckage, wondering how the pieces you held so tightly in your hands managed to slip away. But maybe the pain isn’t punishment. Maybe it’s a quiet, divine intervention. You see, life has a way of shutting doors for you when you’re too scared to close them yourself. The closed doors you’re cursing now? They weren’t protecting something sacred; they were keeping you caged. Those bad vibes you tried to ignore, those places that felt off, those relationships that ran on fumes—they weren’t mistakes. They were lessons. And when they fell apart, when the floor dropped out from beneath you, it wasn’t because you weren’t enough. It was because you were too much to stay where you didn’t belong. This isn’t about blame. It’s about truth. You can pour yourself into a person, a place, a dream, and still, it...

  Here’s a a life skill that many don’t talk about enough: the fine art of ignoring. And no, I don’t mean just turning your back and walking away. I mean strategically, gracefully, and unapologetically not caring . Take this meme as the ultimate example: sitting on your sofa, phone in hand, scrolling through meaningless apps while life’s problems pile up like unread emails. Why stress, though? Problems, much like annoying WhatsApp messages, have a funny way of disappearing if you give them enough silence. And speaking of silence, let’s address the WhatsApp crowd —you know who they are. The ones who:    •   Write essays as if your WhatsApp is a diary submission.    •   Send “???” because you didn’t reply within 0.2 seconds.    •   Believe “online” means “ready to be annoyed.” Here’s my approach: don’t reply. Don’t justify. Don’t even open the chat if it means giving them satisfaction. Read r...