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Food for thought

  • Zima Blue

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    What can I say? I can’t look at a blue sky without thinking about this episode.

  • How I flooded Florianópolis (On a map, relax)

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    Recently, I discovered how fascinating topographic maps are, and, well, I got a little obsessed. Those elevation lines? They look like art. Beautiful, intricate, mesmerizing.

    So, on one of those weekends when stepping outside felt like a bad idea because of wildfire smoke making the air unbreathable, COVID still lurking, and a general 2020 apocalypse vibe, I got inspired. I decided to create a projection of what Florianópolis would look like if the sea level rose by 15 meters. Spoiler: it’s a vibe, but not the good kind.

    With some help from the crew (Lê, Manu, Jordane, and Augusto), I gave the newly-formed islands and regions their own names. It was oddly fun, considering the grim premise.

    I used a site called FloodMap to make the projection. It’s pretty basic and doesn’t account for things like currents, erosion, wind, or the inevitable chaos we humans will add to the mix. Even so, it was fascinating to see the island split in two. Maybe, just maybe, that’s the perfect excuse to finally shed the “Floriano” legacy. (Locals, you get it.)

    This little exercise got me thinking: in 500 years, the world will look wildly different. Technologies for housing and transportation could make life surprisingly livable, even in a scenario like this. Think vertical farms, floating neighborhoods, maybe even underwater condos. Humans are pretty good at adapting when we’re not busy messing things up.

    Anyway, here’s the link to the high-resolution map. Use it, edit it, have fun with it. Or don’t. I’m not your boss.

  • 10 Sábios Coin

    I found this coin during my end of year cleaning. It brought back memories of the adventures it took to get it and then rediscover it. Always good ones.

    Because they happened the way they were meant to. Not right or wrong. Just the only way they could have been.

    But this isn’t really about the coin. The coin is just a symbol, a relic from a chapter of my life, the only piece I still have. Finding it felt like unearthing treasure, something deeply valuable to me. Everything that came before it is wrapped up in it too: experiences and people.

    Especially the people. All the ones who spent a little bit of their time with me. Minutes, hours, years. Some, even decades, 3.6 decades to be exact.

    I’ve been sitting here alone for almost an hour, writing this and watching the day fade while the cicadas start to sing. Thinking about those people and those experiences. Taking time to think about them.

    And even sitting here alone, it’s comforting to think of them or rather, to think of you.

    A piece of your wisdom is part of me now. Like shared wisdom, quantum, cosmic. It’s there.

    And in some small way or maybe a big one, I’m a part of you too. Not in the right way or the wrong way, but in the only way.

  • I’ve changed. I’d hope so.

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  • Riding Horses

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    Living on an island farm wasn’t in the plan. It sounds like something out of an indie movie, but there I was, sharing space with a bunch of animals and a horse named Camila. A small horse, probably a pony (?). Her main job was keep the grass low and turn it into manure, that’s it. I was glad that people weren’t riding her. The one time I saw someone try, I hid her saddle and said it was stolen. First time admitting that. Hope her owner never reads this.

    While she was getting her job done, I was coding and designing in my own unconventional way. No fancy degrees, just a lot of trial, error, and late-night debugging. Friends called me a “GoHorse” developer. They laughed. I laughed louder. It wasn’t a joke to me. It was an honest way to work, none of that “fake it till you make it” nonsense.

    One Saturday, feeling burned out, I went outside to check on Camila. The farm was buzzing, chickens clucking, cows mooing, birds having a full-blown concert. A different kind of debugging.

    In the quiet of the stable, Camila looked at me, unimpressed. I scratched behind her ears, grounding myself in something real.

    Say Hi to Camila! 𐂃

    I led her into the paddock, her brownish fur catching the sun. Her shining eyes, she had the most incredible black eye, deep and knowing. I loved that eye. As we walked, I thought about unicorns, the mythical distractions I’d chased before. Shiny big ideas, big promises, mostly letdowns. Horses, though? They’re the real deal. No sparkle, just steady work.

    She stopped and stared at a distant hill. I followed her gaze, a wildflower pushing through the cracks of an old wall. It reminded me of half-baked ideas that somehow survive, despite the chaos.

    “Maybe it’s not about chasing the impossible,” I thought. “Maybe it’s about nurturing what’s real.” Camila nickered. Either she read minds, or she was just hungry.

    At one point, I tripped over a root, landing in the grass like a broken script. Camila gave me a nudge, as if saying, “Bugs happen.” I laughed. Laugh at myself is my second language, after JavaScript.

    As the sun set, I realized something. Horses don’t promise the moon. They’re just there, solid and dependable, ready to move forward. Unicorns? They leave you empty-handed when reality kicks in.

    I spent the last hour with Camila, untangling ropes, telling her about my latest project fails. No buzzwords, no pretense, just something real.

    Walking home under the twilight sky, I felt clearer than I had all week. Maybe it’s time to build more horses in my life. Real, steady, built to last.

    After all, sometimes the most magical things don’t need a fairy tale to prove their worth.

    So here I am, back at my desk, inspired by Camila and the wildflower. I’m here for real horses, not unicorns. I’m here to break even, not break hearts.

    Sometimes, real is the most magical thing of all.

    (っ-,-)つ𐂃