there is a portuguese writer that never existed, was never born, and will never die. his name, Alberto Caeiro.
once upon a time, he wrote, “sentir é estar distraído” (to feel is to be distracted).
i read this quote from one of his poems after a short afternoon near the Garona river in toulouse. i wanted to read my book – a brand-new one that i was too excited to buy and start reading. i chose a place in one of my favorite spots, opened up the book, stopped the music in my airpods and immersed myself in my own mindfulness world.
there were lots of people passing by, some of them alone, others with their significant other, and some with their dogs, the only true love they can count on.
i disconnected and i did not fear what people passing by might think of such a lost boy in his early twenties reading a book near the water instead of being stuck at home facing a computer.
what did i realize? nothing matters.
i got my mind out of my own story, while the soft sun tried to burn my skin. it was hot, and the day before had rained a lot. i got some dirt all over my jeans and children were always around screaming for god knows what reason.
despite that, i focused in some other things. the canoes over the river, the way i could see the tram in a far bridge, the water moving on. the way my life has changed so much in less than a year and how much I miss the moments i lived precisely a year ago.
i also dreamt big. planned the things i would like to do, and the others that, for now, may not be right yet.
i prided myself for the things i had accomplished and i regretted the ones i did not had the courage to do.
cause, in truth, i cannot ask the world to stop just because i have to think. but i can always stop by the river to notice how much i can still grow.
i was all by my own.
i wasn’t all by my own.
i was with the beauty of my own world.
april 22nd, 2025