It was in the countryside that I fell in love with art. Surrounded by nature, books, oil paintings, and sculptures, I grew up dreaming of being an artist, a writer, and a painter.

Amidst the confusion and silence of that small town, I let the doors of creativity open as a form of escapism. I wrote my first short stories and my first fantasies in the shade of trees and on the banks of rivers.

However, it was part of the town’s history, of my history, to desire to escape, to desire to create, and to set oneself free.

So, I wanted to explore, and I found myself in another city in São Paulo, and later in the countryside of Minas. New cities, new worlds, new stories.

In Minas, I fell in love with liberating solitude; By having profound conversations with no one but me, I got to know myself without anyone else.

But, I also got to know who I am deeply, through exuberant company; I grew attached, and made friends with people as complex as I believed myself to be. Personalities that shaped me and that I like to think were shaped by me.

I wrote what was requested of me, researched, understood, learned, and dedicated myself.

I wrote about places I never saw, flavors I never tasted, sorrows for which I never cried, and romances for which I never fell in love.

Always in silence, always leaving the stage to others, but listening attentively, I lived, I comprehended, and I learnt.

I was born in silence with curiosity, evolved in solitude with passion, and finally, I find myself captivated by something that was always rooted in me: the chaos and the destruction of creation.

Then, at last, I allow myself to create.

In contrast with the interior that raised me and the freedom of Minas where I matured, for a time I lived in one of the noisiest cities I have ever known, which carries the motto "Non ducor, duco," translated from Latin as "I am not conducted, I conduct."

A place that continues to evolve, which inspired me just as other cities once did. I marvel at the smallish details of something so magnificent, with a history that was written in the past and continues to write itself. That leads itself.

During these years of searching for an inspiring way to live, I found myself studying, something I still do to this day, may I add, languages that were strange and incomprehensible to me, which made me understand their power. The force of writing, of communication, of conversation.

And so, I found myself working as a ghostwriter, not because I was putting my words out for the world to read, despite wanting to, but because I liked to write.

For years, I continued this way, giving life to the projects of others, experiencing stories, tales, and lives, leaving my own mind in the background, leaving it as just a hobby.