I have taken a lot of beatings for believing the world was the same as I thought it was when I was a child.
I have taken a lot of beatings for thinking justice would happen.
I have cried a lot for thinking my “little friends” would be with me no matter what happened.
I have been “invited to leave” churches, chat circles, and companies for telling the truth.
I still cry from missing my parents, and I still smell my grandparents’ house and food when the longing tightens.
Every day I learn that the hardest part of life is that it doesn’t stop, it’s fast, and always forward. We grow old, period.
Every day I hear that I have to be a man, dry tears and not let them fall, make money, take blows and not fall.
On those few days, when I lose confidence in the world, in people, and even in myself, “little Fellipe” appears… and as the song says, he gives me his hand.
And tells me of beautiful things, which I believe will not cease to exist: friendship, word, respect, character, kindness, joy, and love.
Because I cannot, I should not, I do not want to live as all these people insist on living!
And I cannot quietly accept any kind of dirty trick as something normal!!!
The one who is in solidarity does not want solitude. Every time sadness reaches me, the boy gives me his hand.
There’s a boy, there’s a rascal… living always in my heart.
Every time the adult weakens, he comes to give me his hand.