Will you marry me?

     My dear Sir, my tale begins in the day that Fidel Castro died. Earlier that year, president Dilma Rousseff got impeached in a political coup in Brazil. My world went mad and my life turned upside down. Could this be the story of how we met?

     I have been meaning to write this letter to you for a while now. Somehow I find many difficulties filling in this blank sheet of paper with words of my own.  Especially after seeing that picture of you with your parents in Cambridge this weekend. You made me really nervous, I still am. But it amazed me to see the three of you there. How pretty of you, Mike!

     There’s so much to talk about. But firstly, I would like to salute you and to show my respect for your personality. It has been a great honor having this chatting with you. Secondly, I would like to take this chance and ask your forgiveness for the time that I grew bitter and confused at you. I have been dealing with a whole constellation of things, besides of having spent moments of unutterable losses and grief. And for a few times, I did get consumed by exceedingly distress.

     Also, I must say that I have tried to let go of you innumerable times, I confess, and I confess, too, that I have instantly failed each and every time. Nevertheless, you were always there, never left. Always precise and attentive to my emotions and feelings, even from a distance. I appreciate your regard towards me and I thank you for that. And I thank you, particularly, for showing yourself to me. I see an excepcional American man. A man of vertical character. 

2     Lastly, I would like to invite you to visit my country and to see me. It’s about time for a reencounter! I spend most of my time in Mangaratiba, a tropical retreat in the stunning southeast coastline of Rio. Just now, I am writing to you from a fantastic environmental park: the Cunhambebe! There’s abundant life here, and plenty of beauty too! And also, I am a boat trip away from Ilha Grande, a heavenly and godlike island that I would love to show you. And there are many more places to go, if you have the availability.

     My urge, right now, is to go on a trip to Minas Gerais. I can no longer wait to visit Barbacena, where have been built a Sanctuary of San Michele Arcangelo. A beautiful replica of the Sanctuary of Monte Sant’Angelo, in the province of Foggia, Italy. Right here, close to home. Would you take me there? I would be highly pleased to arrive there along with you. How soon can you be here?

     It would be just as lovely as to walk you through the city of Rio. Can’t wait to take you Downtown, and hop into beautiful churches and museums. You are going to love the Royal Portuguese Cabinet of Reading. We can have coffee at a classic tea house of Old Rio and then head over to Santa Teresa, a very artsy neighborhood. I would greatly enjoy a drink there with you. And please spare some good time to contemplate the magnificent monument of Christ the Redeemer. It’s breathtaking.

6     Now let me tell you, also, that I have just finished my prayers, right in this moment, while I write to you. This is the last day of Lent in honor of São Miguel Arcanjo. I ask strenght to give resistance and wisdom to learn the right acceptance. And I want you to know that you were in my thoughts and remembrance throughout this entire period. I feel an unspeakable bliss, you know?

     Lately, and as time passes, I have been thinking of the many roads I’ve travelled, and of how I was drawn into mysterious depths of the crossroads of the world, and dragged into a strong current that carried me to places I never imagined they could exist. I’ve been challenged in every step and I feel like I’ve been blown out outside the Earth for a long period until I finally returned to my centre. At the core of my being, I feel fortunate and blessed for discovering amor fati.

     As we cross the bridges of time, whatever life may become to us, I hope it brings you and I near one another, always and always. I want our eyes to meet. And I want to feel the touching of your hands holding my back again and again while I still crave your kiss. Now let me warn you about that kissing: think twice, kiss me once. Kiss me twice, and I’ll state that you are completely out of your mind. Kiss me three times, and I’ll call you my boyfriend, meu amor, immediately. Keep kissing me and I’ll Instagram a picture of us in no time.

     And Sir, I may be a very demanding woman, but please know that I will never doubt you and will never question a decision of yours. And as long you respect myself in all my femaleness, I will love, cherish and obey you, Michael. I will love you in Christ. 

Be my darling, will you? 

Dance me to the end of love,

cheek to cheek, will you?

Here is to a charming life by your side, to a life of continuous discovery.

Answer my prayers!

Will you?



P.S. I won’t beg the Sun for mercy. The moon is always female.

(This letter is to be continued.)

On affection


What can they do

to you? Whatever they want.

They can set you up, they can

bust you, they can break

your fingers, they can

burn your brain with electricity,

blur you with drugs till you

can’t walk, can’t remember, they can

take your child, wall up

your lover. They can do anything

you can’t stop them

from doing. How can you stop

them? Alone, you can fight,

you can refuse, you can

take what revenge you can

but they roll over you.


But two people fighting

back to back can cut through

a mob, a snake-dancing file

can break a cordon, an army

can meet an army.


Two people can keep each other

sane, can give support, conviction,

love, massage, hope, sex.

Three people are a delegation,

a committee, a wedge. With four,

you can play bridge and star an organization. With six

you can rent a whole house,

eat pie for dinner with no

seconds, and hold a fund raising party.

A dozen make a demonstration.

A hundred fill a hall.

A thousand have solidarity and your own newsletter;

ten thousand, power and your own paper;

a hundred thousand, your own media;

ten million, your own country.


It goes on one at a time,

it starts when you care

to act, it starts when you do

it again after they said no,

it starts when you say We

and know who you mean, and each

day you mean one more.


Marge Piercy

The low road

On Fear


For the time being we won’t sing of love,

which has fled beyond all undergrounds.

We’ll sing of fear, which sterilizes all hugs.

We won’t sing of hatred, since it doesn’t exist,

only fear exists, our father and our companion,

the dread fear of hinterlands, oceans, deserts,

the fear of soldiers, fear of mothers, fear of churches,

we’ll sing of the fear of dictators, of democrats,

we’ll sing of the fear of death and what’s after death,

then we’ll die of fear,

and fearful yellow flowers will sprout on our tombs.


Carlos Drummond de Andrade

International Symposium on Fear

Translated from Portuguese by Richard Zenith.

The timeless power of love

My tale begins on a cold winter evening in Newport, Rhode Island. As the moon rises, high above the dark blue of the sea, I get lost in the solitude of my memories and in the vastness of my emotions. Everything hurts. I embrace my sorrow and I kindly ask the ocean to heal the open veins of my heart and the invisible wounds of my soul. I allow myself to be vulnerable and I welcome each and every feeling that makes me alive and all too human – angst and fear and sadness and rancor. I face rejection, betrayal, and disappointment, and I seek joy, relief, and comfort in my own truths. And while I confront the limits of my existence, I ask myself one question. Who am I?

I am my mother’s daughter. Every feature of my personality and character I received from her. My fearlessness, my courage, my resilience, my refusal to accepting dependent or secondary roles in life, my knowledge, my love for the arts, my passion for politics, my will to fight social injustice, my education, my urge for freedom – all these I inherited from my mother. My only privilege in life is to be her daughter. She is my universe. She is the core of my existence. She is all I longed to be my whole life. We have always had a difficult mother-and-daughter-relationship and today I understand why.


My mom was just a girl when she chose to give me life and become the matriarch of a broken family. I was 9 years old when I realized that I was a fatherless child. I remember that moment like it was yesterday. I was at my fourth-grade graduation party when the principal invited moms to dance with their sons and dads to dance with their daughters. There I was, alone on the dance floor. My mom was in the corner, in tears. But honestly, I did not feel sad at all. I loved her dearly that evening. And we danced together. This is the first great memory that I have of my childhood and I love it. I am the daughter of a remarkable woman. Even in the darkest and weakest moments, she remains beautiful, strong and faithful.

But who am I?

I am a thirty-year-old woman who craves love like oxygen. I simply love everything that is beautiful. And I love with reckless abandon. Everything. I love music – from jazz and blues to rock and pop and samba. I love written words. I proudly love my beautiful and amazing country, Brazil. I truly love the place that I chose to be my home, Rhode Island. I love my craft, Journalism. I love the ideals of socialism. I love the promise of America. I absolutely love living in the United States. I love nature – oftentimes I cry looking at trees and flowers and birds. I love watching the ocean tides and the changes of the moon. I love sunsets and sunrises and all those enchanting colors in the sky. I love the chaos of modern life. I love burgers and I obsessively love french fries. Oh, I love New York – the rush, the noises, and the endless possibilities. I passionately love photography. I love flirting. I love my tireless pursuit of freedom, my challenges, my flaws, my imperfections. I love to dance and to sing, although I’m terribly clumsy. I love every single moment of magic that continually happens around me. I love a passionate kiss and a warm hug. I long for a passionate kiss and a warm hug. And I simply love the way I love. Love is my encounter with life. Love is my encounter with Jesus Christ.

I was in my early twenties the first time that I truly loved a man. I dare saying it was love at first sight. It was fascinating. He was a writer, a renowned prosecutor, an intellectual. A socialist! He introduced me to Justice, Sociology and Philosophy. He introduced me to Nietzsche! Seriously, he used to read books to me all the time and I loved him for that. Together, we shared the passion for the beach, literature, soccer and samba. It sounded just perfect. And he broke my heart. He took a sudden and abrupt departure without saying goodbye and left me breathless. Truth to be told, I was just in the beginning of my adult life and a breakup was inevitable. I never made room for resentment. On the contrary, I still hold him in high esteem, he influenced me in great ways. And I will always be thankful for our encounter.

But I did grieve for that love. And after two long years, I was ready to meet my precious Rafa. A mutual friend was insisting for months that we had to meet. I was reluctant. I had previously spied on him on Facebook and noticed that he was a liberal. A liberal! How could I ever date a liberal after dating a socialist, I argued with my dear Felipe (the one who set us up on a date). He wouldn’t take no for an answer. And there I was, on a blind date, and as soon as I set my eyes on Rafael, I fell in love. He was handsome and kind. A gentleman in every single way. And believe it or not, we moved in right after our third date and lived peacefully together for three amazing years.

rafaI introduced him to my views of the world and he introduced me to his. He introduced me to new technologies and to different cultures. He made me fall in love with Netflix, Kindle, heavy metal, whiskey, and all the Superheroes! He cooked for me delicious meals. He took me on a trip to Paris to celebrate love! We shared great moments of complicity. We played Mario Kart, we had some of the best burgers and we went on beautiful Harley rides every weekend. We enjoyed each other’s company in fast-paced cities and in the quietude of countryside. But somehow and unfortunately, we got lost and disconnected, and our farewell couldn’t be avoided. Letting Rafa go of my life was quite hurtful. He was a great partner. And allowing myself to fall in love with another man other than him was challenging and daring. Joyfully, we chose to make room for a fraternal love and we remain close friends. He has my back like a real brother would. I cannot thank him enough for his unconditional support and I am pleased to watch him become a fine business man. My dear Rafa will always have my fondness and loyalty. Simply because we share the same set of values in life.

I was meant to write a romantic tale of love a few months ago and I got completely overrun by cycles of passion and longing, madness and discourtesy. Back then I just wanted to tell the world how much I loved and appreciated my husband. If truth be known, we married for reasons other than love. Even though I am a romantic woman, I never had the dream of marrying someone. I am a free spirit and always looked at marriage as a contract that would never suit me. Until I met Cor. My dark rebel. He was the one who held my hands in the most difficult moment of my life and gave me hope for a better future. He was the one who made me believe in myself when nobody else would. He was the one who brought me back to my journey and encouraged me to dream again. He arose out of his darkness to give me air and light in moments of uncertainty and despair. And I will be forever thankful for all the goodness he brought to my life in such short period of time.

TrueCutzCor never told me exactly when he fell in love with me. He says it was when he first saw tears in my eyes. And I guess I could say just the same. Every time that I saw tears in his eyes I loved him a little more. Because they were true and I could feel his pain. And when he surprisingly asked me to be his wife, promising me his love and loyalty, I did not hesitate and I left my heart wide open. I loved him faithfully every day we spent together as husband and wife and I thought I could battle his inner demons and teach him how to love a woman like me.

I wanted to give the world to him. I only had one demand: no frogs between us. Frogs in our relationship meant greed, envy, jealousy, sexism and rivalry. Unfortunately, he did not attend my request. I was determined to forge him into a lion, but he chose to remain a street cat. He soon became rude, careless and unpleasant. His love suddenly became toxic and tyrannical. He made way to anger and fake assumptions about his wife and mistakenly chose to be loyal to those who insist on keeping him as a court jester.

I was willing to be his caregiver for the rest of my life, regardless a romantic relationship. I believed that I could overturn his stereotypes and help him treat his mental disorders. I realize now that I was a victim of poor judgment. Although he is a man of brilliant intelligence who knows the code of the streets and is well-practiced in gallantry, he is incapable of respecting a woman. He insulted and humiliated me. He accused me of being a fraud and treated me like an enemy. He made me feel small and enjoyed it. I never felt more hurt in my entire life.

Our marriage challenged all my boundaries – my authenticity, my values, my mind, my heart, my soul, my whole self. It was the perfect storm, brief and intense. A paradox in its essence that invaded my life and threw every aspect of it out of balance.

I know that love does not die quickly. But this love arrived and has departed like an express train. It vanished like a whiff on the railway, leaving me with nothing but nakedness and exhaustion. I am now completely alone on the platform. The next train has been announced and will arrive shortly. But wait. I am not going to jump in. I refuse to be a mere passenger in this world. I shall leave the station. Perhaps I will learn how to fly now.

Once again, who am I?


I am the poor-born girl from Latin America who was raised to be queen, not a trophy wife. I am a vivacious woman and a skilled warrior of matchless spirit. I grew up witnessing the shadows of poverty, misery, and violence. I have walked a path of darkness most part of my life. But don’t get me wrong, I am not a survivor and I don’t take refuge in a world of appearances. Instead, I take bulls by the horn. I battle with words.  My integrity is a non-negotiable demand and my strength of character is my greatest weapon.

I moved to the United States of America two years ago for one reason only: to pursue a higher education. I just wanted to go to school and dedicate myself to the Arts and creativity. Now I want much more. I want to study the Arts, Anthropology, Sociology and someday I would like to earn a Ph.D. in Political Science. Now I am going to work tirelessly to be among the most influential Journalists of my time. I will flee the world, sail the oceans, cross forests and continents. I will see war with my own eyes. I will meet the most interesting and genuine people on Earth and I will listen to them. I’ll learn about their struggles and dreams, and I’ll tell their stories. I’ll devote my life and existence to politics and perhaps one day I’ll become a Diplomat for my country, perhaps an Ambassador for my precious continent. And I will keep fighting for democracy, social justice, human dignity, labors rights, and communication as a human right.

And yes, I will marry again. For love. I will marry a man of virtue and faith who is insatiable for love and politics as much as I am. And I’ll be loyal to him from the moment of our first kiss until our very last sigh of breath in this life. He will be the father of my daughter and I’ll love him with devotion. I know I must choose carefully this time, but my heart knows when it’s love at first sight.

That same cold night in Newport, while I begged for healing, something amazing happened: I recognized my king. I recognized the man of my dreams just by his presence, as soon as he arrived to meet me. When I first heard his voice right from behind me, my heart stopped, and I haven’t fully recovered the beat yet. Seeing him for the first time brought tears to my eyes. I missed him all my life. The most intelligent and charming and well-educated man I have ever met. And since that encounter, he is part of every thought of mine, every dream, every hope, every single word. I never felt more in love. An outstanding feeling that ravished me and that makes me burn in fever ever since. I am completely terrified because I know love and I know you can never be entirely free when you love someone.

He was there to ask me one question: who are you, Camilla?

I hope he can find truth in my words. And I humbly pray that he chooses me to be his queen. If so, my army will meet his army and we will fight back to back. What could we accomplish together, I only wonder. What can I do for him? What could he do for me? I will rule the world of Communications. Is he going to rule the world of Technology? Perhaps Civilizations? Will he play the piano for me? This could be a promising and exciting courtship.

And here I am, dreaming of love again. But I must respect the seasons of my heart. Between one night and the next, between a memory and a dream, the stream of a river still burns within me. Before I embark on a new romantic voyage, I need time to mourn, to grieve, to heal, so I can truly love again. Because love is my source of life, it is the sacred in my everyday choices.

In this endless canvas of life, change has always been a constant in my world as I insist to live up to my dreams. I want to experience all that is beautiful and true and I’ll have the life that I am meant to live. My faith is all I have, all I need. And while I take the crown of my destiny, I wander freely, I walk proudly, and I remain fiercely loyal to who I am. And I am to conquer the world in my own way. Watch me.

P.S. I can be a handful at times, you better be a good pilot. I will only fly with you.

a prayer

My tale begins as a thank you letter to you, my ancient spirits of light.  I thank you for your guidance, wisdom, and support as I continue to fight my battles towards freedom throughout human existence. I thank you, and I thank myself, for choosing to bring out the light and love into my life and into the world.

I open myself to your warmth and caring and I ask for your patience when I cannot avoid straying and being lost. Please guide my steps while I seek out truth and loyalty over hatred and fear. Teach me how to force negativity out of my life and give me the strength to overcome all my daily difficulties.

I welcome your communication and I ask for your blessings as I tell my stories through my tales. And I thank you dearly for my family. There’s no love like family love, and I ask that you continue loving and protecting us, keeping us safe and peaceful always.

a note from the universe

Dear all,

live with grace and style,

show kindness,

be grateful,

count your blessings,

bring joy to wherever your soul leads you to,

share love,

trust in your dreams,

stay true.

I am Providence

My tale begins in a monstrously beautiful kind of night. It’s Halloween in Rhode Island, the land where the master of horror tales, H.P. Lovecraft, devoted his life to creativity. Throughout Lovecraft’s haunted lifetime, the son of Providence battled his demons over the craft of writing. His artwork helped him bravely fight insanity and fully embrace darkness.

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear. And the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.” – H.P. Lovecraft

While I wander in the streets and alleys of the unknown, I pray for his guidance. I ask him permission to devour his words. I celebrate his brilliance. I pay reverence to his existence. I welcome H.P. Lovecraft, the lord of darkness, to walk before me.

(Illustration: unknown artist)

My home place, Rhode Island

My tale begins in Rhode Island. Rhode Island is home for my soul. Rhode Island is my place of peace. Rhode Island enchants me. Rhode Island gives me the courage to be a better self. Rhode Island not always has my back but often enlightens me towards greater things.

Rhode Island has people that are driven more strongly by hope than by fear. Rhode Island is a “she” and has her own skin. Rhode Island is a sight of bliss. Rhode Island continually and stubbornly refuses the oblivious of everything. In every single turn, she allows me to exist.

Rhode Island kindly whispers in my ears, “it’s time to commit to your dreams”.

Thank you, my dear.

Keep inspiring me!

I am truly yours.