There wasn’t one single moment that made me leave Brazil. It was a collection of moments, feelings, and deep truths that built up inside me like waves — until they could no longer be ignored. But there was one moment when I knew:

I can’t live here. Not like this. Not as myself.

One of those moments struck me like lightning on a warm night in São Paulo. I was out with friends — four of us in a car, music blasting, city lights flashing past. Then the car slowed at a red light. A barefoot boy, shirtless, appeared by the window. He couldn’t have been older than eight. He asked to clean the windshield for a coin.

In that split second, something in me cracked open.

My friend shooed him away and rolled up the window. Conversation resumed as if nothing had happened. But I couldn’t go back to that conversation. I couldn’t unsee his eyes. I felt dirty sitting there — not because of the boy, but because of what we were pretending not to see.

That moment split my reality in two:

There was the world I was born into — and the world I knew I had to find.

A world where I wouldn’t feel numb. A world where I could live in truth.

From then on, I couldn’t pretend anymore. I couldn’t enjoy a night out while children slept on pavements. I couldn’t chase the dreams expected of me in a world that felt so unequal — so desensitized to pain.

And I realized:

If I can’t change the world around me, I must change the world I live in.

I had to go.

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💔 Signs I Couldn’t Ignore

Another moment came just weeks later — and it hurt even more.

One morning, I was on my way to work, holding money in my hand for the train. A homeless boy asked me for it. I told him gently I needed it for the fare, but I’d help him on my way back. I had given to him before.

But this time, he turned away — and a moment later, something hit me hard. I fell to my knees. He and a group of boys had thrown a piece of wood at me. I was stunned, in pain, and invisible to everyone walking past.

Later that same day, an elderly homeless man screamed at me and kicked me in the back. Again, no one helped. Again, I ended up on the floor.

But here’s what’s strange: I didn’t feel anger.

I felt heartbreak.

Both attacks happened in the same morning. And somehow, I interpreted them not as punishment — but as a message. It was as if the universe was saying:

“This is not your path anymore. Go.”

Something in me knew: I was simply in their way.

I felt the full weight of living in a society so wounded, so abandoned, that pain had nowhere else to go but outward.

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🎶 Joy Made From Scraps

Still, there were also moments of unexpected light.

I remember passing under a bridge as a teenager and hearing music. Not instruments — just rhythms made from scraps: metal tins, plastic bottles, sticks. People living on the street had formed a circle and were dancing with joy.

In that moment, they weren’t “homeless.”

They were together.

They had made music out of rubbish — joy out of despair.

I remember thinking: Right now, they have nothing… and yet they are happy.

And then something inside whispered:

“Actually, they have each other.”

That’s when I truly learned:

✨ Perception shapes reality.

✨ Human connection can transform anything.

✨ Love — even on a pavement — is sacred.

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🧡 I Was Always Drawn to the Underdogs

I’ve always felt connected to people others overlook — the quiet ones, the introverts, the underdogs.

Even as a child, I’d visit the poorest areas of my village, sit with families, and listen to their stories. I felt more alive with them than I did anywhere else. That empathy stayed with me. It’s at the heart of my work now.

But growing up, I didn’t fit the environment around me. Many people were obsessed with status, appearance, and surface-level success. I didn’t relate.

My friends used to tease me for talking to everyone — even strangers, even people they ignored. They joked I was like a corner of the lake where all the debris gathers.

“She attracts all sorts,” they’d laugh.

At the time, I felt humiliated.

But now?

Now I see that openness was one of my greatest strengths.

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🔒 A Life Lived for Others

There was another truth too: I hadn’t yet lived life for myself.

By age 12, I had become a mother to my younger brother while my own mother battled postnatal depression. My father paid me to stay home instead finding a job— not to dream, but to take care of the family.

For years, I wasn’t allowed to make decisions without explaining myself. I wasn’t treated like an adult. I was treated like I belonged to someone else.

By the time I turned 21, I had had enough.

At 23 April 201 I left, before turning 24 in june

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✈️ I Chose the Unknown — and It Chose Me

No big plan. Just a one-year open ticket to London. A six-month paid English course, which I renewed after. £800 in my pocket. And a deep, unshakable self-belief.

Within 14 months, I had met hundreds of people. I threw my 25th birthday party in Notting Hill at the opening of a new venue. A Brazilian friend — who owned the space — invited me to host it because he’d seen how many people I’d met in London. Over 150 guests came.

I had met every single one of them personally — face to face, somewhere, sometime. I was always out — clubbing, in bars, going to English school every day, and heading out straight after. All I wanted was to connect, to meet people, and to create a community around me. Life felt like an adventure. I felt like I was on holiday.

Back then, we used to exchange phone numbers, but I didn’t always recognize the names in my phone later on. What I did recognize were the faces. Every face at that party was familiar — even if I couldn’t remember where we met, I knew I had seen them, talked to them, shared a moment.

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🗣️ How I Learned English Without a Plan

Maybe that’s why I learned English so fast. It felt like I was on a mission. Within a couple of months, I was confidently throwing words around — even if they didn’t always form a full sentence. Somehow, people still understood me.

I wasn’t shy about it either. I’d ask native speakers to correct me whenever I said something wrong — and to my surprise, they loved it.

People were kind, encouraging, and curious.

They appreciated that I was trying.

That simple act — asking for help without shame — taught me more than any textbook could.

During my two years in London, before moving to Wales 10 months later I met my Welsh husband, I moved through six different shared houses. And honestly? I didn’t care what the house looked like — all I cared about was whether any native English speakers lived there. That was my one condition.

So I lived with people from Australia, Canada, Ireland, Scotland — anyone who spoke English fluently. I would approach them, explain what I was doing, and ask if they would speak with me and help me practice.

They loved it. They were amused by my energy, my excitement, and how determined I was to learn.

There was one house I chose just because the landlord was Irish — he was friendly and open, and even though the other housemates didn’t speak English, I still stayed because I knew I’d get to talk to him. That’s how focused I was.

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🤝 Connection Over Perfection

Looking back, it wasn’t just about vocabulary or grammar.

It was about presence — showing up with a smile, with humility, and a willingness to connect.

That’s what made people listen. That’s what helped me learn.

I didn’t wait until I was fluent to speak.

I spoke to become fluent.

And every time someone helped me, I felt a little more at home.

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🧭 The Beginning of My True Self

This chapter of my life was the beginning of who I truly am.

I am presence — fluid, unidentified, and untamed.

I didn’t just leave a country.

I left a life that never truly belonged to me.

I stepped into the unknown — not with a plan or a map,

but with presence, with trust in life, and with an open heart.

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✨ A Different Kind of Resilience

Here’s the thing about resilience:

It’s often defined as our ability to bounce back from what life throws at us — the unexpected, the painful, the overwhelming.

But sometimes, resilience is also about choosing to walk into the unknown on purpose.

I didn’t wait for adversity to find me.

I walked toward it.

I chose to leave behind everything that once defined me — family, friends, even the label of “Brazilian woman” — because I needed to find who I truly was, outside of the roles I’d inherited.

That choice — as terrifying as it was — built a different kind of resilience:

One rooted not just in survival, but in self-knowing.

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🎩 Oh, and One More Thing…

If you’ve ever seen the movie Paddington, when he arrives at the station, wide-eyed and innocent, saying “London!” — that was me.

A bit lost.

A bit scared.

But completely present.

And thank goodness I didn’t need a map — I’ve got no sense of direction anyway.

Even now, thank God for GPS.