The best part about being a writer? Always finding new ways to express yourself creatively—or embarrass yourself—all without getting paid for it. So here we go.
The day we helped my grandmother fight Alzheimer's disease.
For English, please apply subtitles.
Some pics from the exhibition and my grandma, just to make you smile a little bit.
The day we decided to write a song and never stopped writing them.
Fun fact: the artist Arlindinho, son of Arlindo Cruz (the GOAT of Brazilian samba) shared one of my songs with his fan base.
The day we made postcards with some reasons why foreigners shouldn't visit Brazil.
The day we tried to bring the coffee break into our work-from-home routines to avoid burnout.
The day we created beer coasters that reveal b-side playlists from artists you already love.
Beer time is also when you get up close and personal with your favorite artists. When you can relax and listen to all the hits you already love. Boêmia Samba Club was born to expand this intimacy, bringing b-side playlists that will make you fall even more in love with your idols.
The day I decided to write a few cheesy poems.
Stepping on Green Grass
it’s like visiting a beautiful place:
you get stunned by it immediately.
so much that you’re not sure
whether it’s better to take a picture
or, lazily, to seize the moment.
it’s like being underwater
and, from there, look at the sun.
for a moment you realize
that feeling „breathless” can
luckily keep two meanings.
it’s like a first-time skydiving.
if you never did, I can tell you:
there is an instant between
the plane and the ground
when fear vanishes in free fall
and for once you feel immortal.
that’s getting to know somebody.
if you survive the awkwardness
to keep walking toward the unknown,
you may find a new place to visit,
somewhere amidst skin and bone.
and sorry to say what i’m about to say:
i can’t guarantee she’ll meet you back.
I can’t promise you that, smart-ass.
but if she is willing to do it, i assure you:
it’ll be like stepping on fresh green grass.
My Grandma read this little one.
It’s in Portuguese, sorry.
Homesick
if you don’t bother,
could you answer me, please:
is it possible to feel homesick
for a kiss?