01 — START
I was born in 1982. The baby in this picture didn't know anything yet.
I grew up in a Brazil tube TV and antenna set in my hand, and it would take me my whole life to learn what really mattered. This is my story — and in some parts, it may be a little yours too.
1982–1990 · THE FIRST BOOT
The room was small. The imagination didn't have end.
Without brothers, imagination became the central processor — running all day, filling each void. The TV turned on and the room filled: to the left the drawings, to the right a wall of heroes. Jaspion, Changeman, Kamen Rider were not hobbies. They were. moral code They taught me the one rule that survived everything: falling is part; what counts is lifting.
Outside, the street was my test environment. On the asphalt I measured the physics in the skin: the handlebars of the bike, the slope of the skateboard, the speed against fear. In controlling video games, with friends, I trained the hardest logic of all — that of human connections. At the center of everything, a boy with a little toy guitar, not knowing he was already practicing building worlds. It was noise. It was raw. And it was mine.
2000 · LEARNING TO HEAR
In 2000, at 18, I spent all day attending people lost on the internet dialed.
It wasn't my first job — by the time I was 16, I was already au thuring stores at a shopping mall, a technical course internship. But it was there, on the line, that I discovered what I carry until today: almost never the problem was technical. Before you tried to solve it, you had to. Listen the person on the other side.
Without realizing it, I wasn't just learning how to fix a machine. I was training the patience that life would charge me much later.
2004
In April, I lost my father.
Only son, I matured at once. I learned to drive, sold his car, bought my first one on that year's salary. Life did not wait for me to be ready — and it never waits. At that moment, I only knew one way to go: alone. It would take over a decade to find out there was another one.
2005 · THE DELIVERY
I graduated from Information Systems, specializing in logistics. But the real course took place outside the room.
It was years of day work and night study, and in the cracks the struggle not to collapse. I've accumulated late subjects like bottlenecks on a line that never stops — and I've paid each one to sacrifice a whole vacation. I didn't study logistics just on the blackboard: It was the cargo crossing the neck.
The year before, I had lost my father — and to him, study was the most valuable thing that existed. When I went upstairs to get my diploma, it was the only delivery that mattered. He never saw her. Whoever held the weight with me, next to me in the picture, was my mother.
2009 – 2011 · THE FOUNDATION
In 2009, I met the love of my life — and she changed everything from Place.
In 2011, I got married. I paid for the party with the vacation I never took and the bonus I sold; the honeymoon was short — our choice — and yet whole.
Priority is not what we say; it is what we do, and how much we give up. There I settled the most important foundation of my life — and it was not software. It was from people: someone with whom it was worth sharing the weight and the rest of the way. That love is, to this day, the foundation My family.
2012 · THE VETOR VIRATE
So far, I've measured life at speed. Then my daughter was born — and the force vector All changed direction.
I was a system tuned to win. And every system at the peak is, in the same gesture, tuned to break. From one day to the next, the metric stopped being speed and became durability: I stopped wanting to be fast. I wanted to be a foundation.
I traded the race for the root — went to seek stability and buried myself at work to protect what now mattered. (Without realizing it, I planted there the seed of exhaustion that would come.) For the first time, life had a reason to last.
2016 · The Full House
In 2016 came two at a time. Joy came to double — and so did weight, even though I did not admit.
We wore one of them ctrl + c and the other ctrl + v. The whole house laughed, and I laughed along. But in the middle of the good mess, I was already carrying more than I could fit into a single man — and pretending to be able to handle it. As usual.
JANUARY · 2017
In early 2017, the account won all at once. My wife in the hospital, two babies at home, years of swallowing — and her body charged: I woke up with tufts of hair on my pillow.
Alopecia took my hair for a whole year. But he left me what I carry to this day: no amount of effort sustains a life if health is left out of account. Taking care of the family and taking care of me are the same balance — and it remakes itself every day.
TODAY · 2026
For a long time, I was everyone’s point of support — and, alone, the single point of failure.
Today's different. My wife, who started as an analyst and became an entrepreneur. And a dear family that grew up around — strong bonds, people who are always around, a network of support and love. The team I learned to form instead of carrying on my back. When life squeezes — and it squeezes — the weight no longer falls on one point. It falls on a whole network. And network divides.
I learned late one thing bamboo has always known: it does not grow straight, not at once. It grows in us — for each one it gains strength, and it follows.
CONTINUE
Only long after I found three Japanese words for what I had lived without knowing how to name.
- 職人Shokunin — the craft as a way to perfect itself.
- 金継ぎKintsugi —the gold-filled fracture becomes the most beautiful part.
- 竹Take —the bamboo that bends without breaking, and never stops growing.
But they came later. First came life.