So here I am, staring down 32 like it's some kind of existential math problem I never studied for.
Let's talk about Europe for a second. I've noticed something bizarre since moving here: people who look my age (or older) often behave like they're waiting for their parents to pick them up from school activities. Meanwhile, I'm over here looking 22 but mentally calculating my five-year-old daughter's future education costs while picking her up from kindergarten.
It's a strange cultural inversion—Europeans with visible signs of aging discussing weekend raves while looking like they should be discussing mortgage rates. Of course, I fully understand that the life expectancy in Europe is significantly higher than in Mozambique, which naturally leads people to organize their lives differently and extend certain phases of life. The timeline is objectively different. But knowing this rationally doesn't stop me from noticing these differences and occasionally complaining about them like any normal person would. It's this weird cognitive dissonance where my logical brain understands the demographic reasons while my emotional brain is still processing the cultural shock.
Here's where it gets complicated. By Mozambican standards, I'm firmly in adult territory—especially as a father. Responsibility isn't optional when small humans depend on you. I've got the dad reflexes, the ability to function on minimal sleep, and the constant switching between being my five-year-old daughter's best friend one minute and her worst enemy the next—enforcing bedtime or saying no to that fifth snack request. I've mastered this strange parental duality that feels both natural and surreal.
But internally? Part of me still wants to stay up until 3 AM vibing with my computer, flowing with technology and exploring concepts that most people would find mind-numbing. My idea of a perfect Friday night isn't hitting a club—it's the quiet thrill of getting into a flow state with tech while the rest of the world sleeps. And I still get that same rush of excitement that thrilled 19-year-old me when I finally vibe with a solution I've been working on for hours.
The real mindbender comes when trying to socialize. In one setting, I'm nodding seriously about educational philosophies with other parents. In another, I'm the "old guy" among twenty-somethings who can't believe I remember life before smartphones. And in European contexts, I'm sometimes the "young-looking but oddly mature one" among people who are technically my age but operating on a completely different timeline.
It's like playing a cultural age game where the rules keep changing, and someone constantly redraws the boundaries. So where does this leave me? Somewhere in the weird overlap of a Venn diagram where "physically looks 22," "mentally feels 35," "emotionally experiences 17," and "has responsibilities of 45" all collide.
I'm a dad who still loves adventure. A young face with old soul moments. A responsible adult who occasionally needs to spend all night vibing with tech puzzles that only make sense to me. And maybe that complexity isn't something to "reconcile" but something to celebrate. After all, isn't the whole point of growing up figuring out that the boxes we try to put ourselves in were imaginary all along?
So here's to 32—whatever the hell that means.
A few days ago, I came across something, maybe while scrolling online or flipping through a book, that hasn't left my thoughts since: People tell you their true intentions all the time. They show you who they are. Listen to them. Don't project. Accept people for what they are.
Nothing revolutionary about this idea, right? But for some reason, this time it really stuck with me. And now it keeps popping up in my head throughout the day.
I find myself thinking back to conversations where someone essentially told me exactly who they were, and I chose not to really hear it. Those moments when I decided my interpretation was more accurate than what they were actually showing me.
"I'm not good at commitment." "I don't really have time for close friendships." "I tend to disappear when things get difficult."
They told me. They literally told me. And how many times did I respond by thinking, "But maybe with me it will be different"?
Now this thought follows me around daily. When a coworker says they'll "try" to meet a deadline, I notice how I automatically assume they definitely will. When a friend who's always late says they're "on the way," I see how I've been making excuses rather than accepting this is just how they operate.
The interesting part is that it's not about judging people. That's what keeps resonating with me. Accepting people as they present themselves isn't about deciding if they're good or bad—it's just about seeing what's actually there instead of what I wish was there.
There's something kind of freeing about this realization. I've spent so much energy trying to figure people out when often they've already shown me who they are. I've felt disappointed when people act exactly like they said they would, just because I convinced myself they didn't mean it.
I'm looking at my relationships differently now. It's uncomfortable sometimes, I'll admit. I'm noticing patterns in myself that are a bit embarrassing to acknowledge. But it also feels like removing a weight I didn't know I was carrying.
I'm not sure how long this particular thought will dominate my mind. But I have a feeling its influence will stick around. For now, I'm appreciating this mental reminder that keeps things simple:
Listen. See. Accept.
There's peace in reality, even when it's not what I imagined it would be.
Venho liderando a revista Kabum por alguns meses, e durante este período aprendi uma meia dúzia de coisas novas.
Uma delas é sobre como as revistas ganham popularidade. Para contexto, adicionei neste artigo duas metáforas que me ajudaram na análise: efeito anti-gravidade e balanço gravitacional.
O "efeito anti-gravidade" é uma metáfora para à tendência das revistas em utilizar a popularidade de celebridades já consagradas para impulsionar sua própria reputação, como se elas estivessem desafiando a lei da gravidade e elevando-se cada vez mais. Ou seja, a presença dessas celebridades nas páginas das revistas atrai a atenção do público e aumenta a relevância e a popularidade dessas publicações, que passam a ser vistas como mais importantes e influentes. Essa relação é vista como uma espécie de "anti-gravidade" porque, enquanto as celebridades sobem em popularidade, as revistas também são levadas a um patamar mais alto de reconhecimento e prestígio.
Isso acontece porque as revistas são vistas como tendo um valor proporcional ao calibre dos entrevistados. Porém, essa abordagem acaba deixando de lado muitas pessoas relevantes, mas não tão populares, que não recebem a mesma atenção da mídia.
Por outro lado, quando as pessoas menos conhecidas aparecem na mídia, funcionam como uma espécie de gravidade no seu curso normal de funcionamento, isto é, para baixo, a revista reduz o seu impacto e torna-se menos relevante.
Mas, será que falar apenas de pessoas já conhecidas agrega algum valor para a sociedade, afinal, elas já são conhecidas?
A mídia tem um papel importante na divulgação de histórias e personalidades. Mas, é preciso refletir sobre o tipo de informação que está sendo transmitida. Falar apenas de personalidades já conhecidas pode levar a uma falta de diversidade de ideias e opiniões na mídia. Por outro lado, explorar ângulos não conhecidos sobre pessoas conhecidas pode torná-las mais populares e ampliar o alcance de suas mensagens.
Nós, na Kabum trazemos a segunda metáfora: balanço gravitacional.
Balanço gravitacional é aqui usada para se referir à distribuição do impacto e da popularidade de uma revista, neste caso a Kabum, entre pessoas famosas e pessoas menos conhecidas, mas que ainda merecem destaque. Assim como um corpo celeste com um balanço gravitacional bem distribuído é capaz de manter outros objetos próximos a ele em órbita, uma revista que equilibra bem a cobertura de personalidades famosas com outras menos populares pode manter o interesse do público em suas publicações.
Isso pode ajudar a ampliar a audiência da revista e torná-la mais relevante para um público mais amplo. Esta é a nossa estratégia para nos tornamos relevantes equilibrando influências positivas nos dias de hoje.
There are currently 195 countries recognized by the United Nations, each with its own unique culture, history, and governance system. From the small island nations of the Pacific to metropolis in Southern Africa, the countries of the world are diverse in their landscapes, languages, and customs. However, one commonality that many of these countries share is their position as a source of power and authority within their respective territories.
I often hear the phrase "the world is run like a business," suggesting that everything is about profits and market competition. But when it comes to countries, is it appropriate to think of them as companies?
It is plausible to argue that countries that behave like companies are monopolies, wielding excessive power over their citizens and other nations. To start, let's define what a monopoly is. According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, a monopoly is "complete control of the entire supply of goods or of a service in a certain area or market." In other words, a monopoly is a situation where one entity has exclusive control over a product or service with no viable competition.
If we apply this definition to countries, it's easy to see why the argument is that they are monopolies. After all, countries have exclusive control over their territories and the people who reside within them. They have the power to make and enforce laws, regulate industries, and engage in international relations on behalf of their citizens.
As the world becomes increasingly interconnected, the boundaries between countries and companies can sometimes blur. Countries are responsible for providing for the welfare and security of their citizens, while companies seek to provide value to their customers and generate profits for their owners or shareholders.
For companies that focus on delivering value, there can be significant overlap with the goals of countries in some ways. By creating high-quality products or services that meet the needs of their customers, companies can contribute to the economic growth and stability of a country and provide jobs and opportunities for its citizens. Additionally, companies that prioritize ethical and socially responsible practices can help to promote a healthier and more equitable society, which is in line with the goals of many countries.
One of the main similarities between countries and companies is that they both have a defined territory or market in which they operate. Countries have a defined geographic area, while companies have a defined target audience or customer base. Both entities must navigate a complex web of laws, regulations, and stakeholders within their respective territories or markets.
Another similarity is that both countries and companies have a hierarchy of leadership and decision-making. In countries, this often takes the form of a government or ruling body, while in companies, it's typically a board of directors or executive leadership team. Both types of entities must balance the needs of their stakeholders and make decisions that align with their objectives.
The question remains, "do countries run like a business?" It's a question that will require ongoing questioning.
I’ve quickly come to realize that there are few universal truths. The world is subjective, and the concept of “good” is no exception. As I enter into adulthood, I am beginning to realize that the world is far more subjective than I ever could have imagined. What I once believed to be universal truths are now revealed to be merely personal beliefs and opinions. One such example is the concept of "good" or "world-class." While there may be a base minimum standard that is widely agreed upon, what qualifies as "good" beyond that point is entirely subjective.
In my short time on this planet, I have come to understand that being world-class in any particular field is subject to the rules and standards of that particular environment. Take music, for example. Who defines what makes a world-class song? Is it based on the number of streams or downloads it receives, or is it based on the critical acclaim it receives from music industry professionals? Or is it simply a matter of personal taste? The same can be said for movies. Who decides what makes a film "world-class"? Is it the number of awards it receives or the box office numbers it generates?
The truth is, there is no one-size-fits-all answer. What qualifies as "good" is subjective, and it depends on a multitude of factors, including personal preference, cultural background, and societal norms. What may be considered world-class in one environment may not be viewed in the same light in another.
In the past few months I've experienced my fair share of stress and anxiety. And like many others, I've found myself turning to food as a way to cope with these feelings. But what started as a way to find comfort and relief quickly turned into a vicious cycle of stress eating, physical pain, and excessive overeating.
At first, I didn't really realize what was happening. I would end my workday feeling drained and overwhelmed, and I would reach for the first thing I could find in the fridge. Maybe it was some leftover pizza, or a bag of chips, or a pint of ice cream. It didn't really matter what it was – as long as it was something that could provide me with a temporary escape from my stress and anxiety.
But soon, I started to notice that this behavior was taking a toll on my body. I would feel bloated and uncomfortable after eating, and I started to experience stomach pains and indigestion. I also noticed that I was gaining weight, and my clothes started to feel tight and uncomfortable.
Despite these warning signs, I found it difficult to break the cycle of stress eating. In fact, it only seemed to get worse as time went on. I would eat to feel better, but then I would feel guilty about overeating, which would only increase my stress levels and make me want to eat even more.
It was like I was caught in a never-ending cycle of stress and overeating, and I didn't know how to break free.
Eventually, I realized that I needed to find healthier ways to cope with my stress and anxiety. I started to make time for exercise, which helped me to feel more energized and focused.
It wasn't easy to break the cycle of stress eating, but with time and effort, I was able to do it. And in the process, I learned some valuable lessons about the importance of taking care of both my physical and mental health. By finding healthier ways to cope with stress.
As someone who has entered adult life for some time now, I can certainly attest to the truth behind the statement that "when you have more you don't own things, things own you." This statement has never been more relevant than in today's society, where the pursuit of material possessions and wealth accumulation is often prioritized over other important aspects of life.
As I've progressed in my career and started earning more money, I've found that the temptation to buy more things has grown stronger. I've purchased a new car, rented a bigger apartment, and bought more clothes than I need. And while these possessions may seem nice to have, I've realized that they come with a price.
The more things you own, the more time and energy you have to spend taking care of them. Owning a car means regular maintenance, insurance, and fuel costs. A larger apartment means more cleaning and upkeep. More clothes means more laundry, organizing, and potentially clutter.
It's easy to overlook the costs associated with owning more things, especially when you're caught up in the excitement of acquiring something new. But the reality is that possessions come with responsibilities, and those responsibilities can quickly become burdensome.
On the other hand, it's worth noting that possessions don't have any obligation toward you. Just because you own something doesn't mean that it will always be there for you, or that it will continue to bring you happiness. In fact, many people find that the things they own eventually lose their appeal or become outdated, leaving them feeling unsatisfied or even burdened by their possessions.
I've come to realize that the pursuit of material possessions is not the key to a fulfilling life. While it's nice to have nice things, it's important to be mindful of the costs associated with owning them, and to make sure that they don't become more of a burden than a pleasure.
The idea of change and growth has been a popular topic in self-help and personal development circles for decades. We are constantly bombarded with messages about the importance of pushing ourselves out of our comfort zones and taking risks in order to achieve our goals and live our best lives. However, as someone who has experienced significant changes and transformations in my own life, I have come to realize that the process of change is often much harder and more complex than it is made out to be.
When I began to embark on my journey of personal growth and transformation, I was excited and enthusiastic. I was determined to take control of my life and make the changes necessary to achieve my goals and live a more fulfilling life. However, as I began navigating the ups and downs of this journey, I quickly realized that the change process was much harder and more painful than I had anticipated.
At times, it felt like I was living in slow motion. Every day was a struggle to process new information and adjust to my new reality. I found myself constantly tired and drained, as my brain worked overtime to make sense of all of the changes that were happening around me. I felt like I was living in a constant state of alert, always on the lookout for the next challenge or obstacle that lay ahead.
The truth is, change and growth can be a painful and uncomfortable process. It requires us to confront our fears and insecurities and to take risks that may not always pay off. It can involve leaving behind people and places that we love, and it can lead us into unfamiliar and uncharted territories.
The romanticization of change can often lead us to believe that transformation should happen quickly and easily. We are told to embrace the discomfort and to push ourselves beyond our limits without always considering the toll that this can take on our mental and emotional well-being. It is easy to become caught up in the hype of personal growth and to lose sight of the fact that change is a deeply personal and complex process that takes time and patience.
Living in today's world, I have come to realize that projecting our internal issues onto others is a common psychological defense mechanism that we all engage in from time to time. It is a way to avoid facing our own problems, fears, and insecurities by shifting the focus onto someone else.
Projection can manifest itself in various ways, such as attributing our own emotions, thoughts, or behaviors to another person. It is also a way to cope with feelings of guilt, shame, or anxiety. When we feel guilty about something we have done, we may project that guilt onto someone else and accuse them of wrongdoing instead.
As a black person living in a predominantly white country, I have experienced racism and microaggressions. However, I have also come to realize that sometimes it is a projection of my own biases and prejudices. I have caught myself thinking and saying things that are racist to myself, even though I may not have intended them to be. In my case, I have projected my feelings of guilt about my own prejudices onto others, thus perpetuating the very issue I claim to be fighting against. This realization has made me more aware of my own biases and has helped me to become more self-aware and empathetic towards others.
Projection can be detrimental to our relationships with others. It can lead to misunderstandings and conflicts that could have been avoided if we had taken the time to reflect on our own emotions and behaviors. It can also prevent us from taking responsibility for our actions and addressing our own problems and insecurities.
To avoid projecting our issues onto others, we need to develop self-awareness and be honest with ourselves about our own biases and prejudices. We can do this by reflecting on our thoughts, emotions, and behaviors, and being open to feedback from others. We can also seek professional help if we are struggling with unresolved issues that are affecting our relationships with others.
I have come to realize that projecting our internal issues onto others is not a productive or healthy way to deal with our emotions. It can lead to misunderstandings and conflicts that could have been avoided.
As a young professional, I've learned that every choice we make comes with a cost, especially when it comes to career decisions. I've always had a passion for travel and adventure, and when the opportunity to move abroad to France for work presented itself, I was excited about the potential benefits of the opportunity. However, I quickly realized that the cost of being far from my family and friends, and raising my daughter away from her extended family, was much higher than I had anticipated.
Although I had lived far from home before, in South Africa, which was close enough to Mozambique that I could visit my family frequently, moving to France was a completely different story. The prospect of a high-paying job with the potential for professional growth and exciting cultural experiences was incredibly appealing. However, the thought of being far from my loved ones was a significant concern.
As a parent, I knew that raising my daughter in a foreign country would be a challenge. She would be far from her grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, and we would miss out on important family milestones and celebrations. I also knew that I would miss my family and friends tremendously. The thought of being far from my support system and the people who meant the most to me was a difficult pill to swallow.
I had to weigh the opportunity cost of this decision carefully. Ultimately, I decided to move to France. It was a difficult choice to make, but the potential benefits were too great to ignore. The experience broadened my perspective and helped me develop a more global outlook on life.
Furthermore, the move allowed me to expand my professional network and make valuable connections in my industry. The experience opened doors that would not have been possible had I not made the move.
However, the cost of being away from my family and friends is not easy to bear. I miss important family milestones and events, and my daughter growing up without her extended family nearby. It is challenging to maintain close relationships with loved ones from afar, and I often felt isolated and lonely.
In hindsight, the cost of being away from my family was a high one to pay, and it's not something I would take lightly in the future. While the opportunities and rewards of my professional success were significant, it's clear to me now that the value of close relationships and the support of loved ones cannot be underestimated.
