BETWEEN CLICKS AND CONSEQUENCES

I'm avoiding the news like the devil avoids the cross. I realized some time ago how these headlines affect me. Especially because journalism tends to exaggerate, endlessly repeating tragedies, creating an almost inevitable sense of negativity.

The fire in Los Angeles, for example, was devastating. But perhaps even more devastating is watching the repeated footage of people crying in front of the cameras, showing the loss of their homes and memories. The pain is palpable, but repetition turns tragedy into spectacle. I do not diminish the suffering of these people. I imagine myself in front of the TV, watching my home consumed by flames—it must be an unbearable pain!

I still remember a flood in Brazil. A man stood with water up to his waist, looking at his nearly submerged house. A journalist approached him, microphone in hand, and asked, "How do you feel seeing your house like this?" The man’s gaze and silence were more eloquent than any words could ever be. That scene stayed with me.

I am exhausted by sensationalism. This also applies to illnesses. The diseases of public figures are exploited by the media, exposing their human fragility; capitalizing on someone else's suffering to capture an audience’s attention is an abuse of the trust we place in journalism. While humanizing celebrities can make them more relatable, using their struggles to sell a drama is so exploitative!

And we, as consumers, are part of this cycle—and I am one of them. There will always be those who buy the cream that promises instant rejuvenation. "Before and after" photos, excessively manipulated, feed illusions that sustain an industry of false hopes.

But resistance is possible. Choosing not to engage with sensationalist content is a small gesture that, over time, can lead to meaningful change.

Choosing respect over spectacle. Maybe, in time, the silence of those who reject this cycle will speak louder than the voices that exploit not only human pain but also the appeal of consumerism.

In this year of 2025, I am seriously rethinking my clicks.

Notes That Silence Holds

 I had never paid attention to how important a soundtrack can be. The other day, while watching a movie, I couldn’t focus because of the “noise” from its soundtrack. It was completely mismatched with the film. You know when you’re watching, and suddenly, a dark scene comes with an almost funereal tune? Or when the scene is joyful, and the soundtrack follows the feeling? But in that movie, the music was always incredibly loud—louder than the dialogue and totally out of sync with the scenes. It was as if the excess sound was stealing the story.

After that, making an analogy, I started thinking about the movie of our lives. So often, we crave peace, yet we’re surrounded by noise or exhausting relationships, when the defining moments of our journey bring their own music—one we can barely hear.

And isn’t silence a precious pause? Every human being needs it to absorb life’s notes, to organize the melody the heart insists on playing. But when the soundtrack is too loud, the dialogues become inaudible. Life is the same way: the distractions of social media, the noise of the media, our phones, this frantic pace of modern days can drown out our inner voice and disconnect us from who we truly are.

In life’s melody, it’s the little things that guide our emotions: the laughter of a loved one, a warm cup of coffee, an unexpected hug, freshly baked bread (isn’t it, DiLucas?), a child’s spontaneity, the good news from a dear friend, a child’s achievement, a medical test overcome, a renewed hope. Everything has its right music.

Without a doubt, every choice we make, every silence we respect, every noise we embrace gradually composes the music of our soul.

That’s why, at the beginning of the year, I decided to adjust my “soundtrack” and carefully choose the sounds I want around me. I want the music of my life not to be imposed by the world’s noise but conducted by the harmony of what truly matters. Because, in the end, we are nothing more than the song we leave in the air—a subtle echo, wandering through the notes of time, dancing among memories, and persisting even after the silence.

THE LAST SMILE: BETWEEN LIFE AND SILENCE

Living here in the U.S. for 36 years, this week I had my first experience visiting a hospice. Do you know what a hospice is here in the U.S.? It’s a facility that cares for terminally ill patients. When there is no longer any hope for a cure, patients go to this place, where specialized nurses provide end-of-life care. The person I went to visit worked with me for ten years, and when I left the company in 2004, I never saw him again. Recently, I found out that he was battling an aggressive cancer and had decided to stop treatment. He had been undergoing treatment for many years, but now the disease had spread to both lungs. What a heartbreaking situation!

I parked my car in front of the hospice and took a moment to prepare myself before going in. All I wanted was to bring a little joy, a little energy, to my friend. I took a deep breath. I said a prayer. Dennis had always been a cheerful, funny, strong, and determined person, working with so much energy! I entered that place with my heart in my hands, knowing it would be a difficult task. But there are moments in life when we must be strong and focus on giving that “something extra” to those who need it.

I walked into the dimly lit room, and there he was, sitting on the bed, bald from countless chemotherapy sessions, yet wearing the same smile. In the silence of that room, I realized that presence speaks louder than words. There are moments when a simple touch of the hand means more than a thousand words.  

I held his hand, and we reminisced about old times, laughing at memories from the past. As he spoke, I looked at him, unable to believe that the man before me was the same Dennis I had known. What illness does to people! But time can change everything, but it does not erase the essence of who we are.

Between laughter and memories, we tried to trick time, but it follows its relentless course. Life is fragile, and every moment we live is a gift that should not be wasted.

I kept holding his hand, listening to his stories, laughing with him, while at the same time looking at his face and thinking, “Soon, he won’t be here.” What a painful thought! Before I left, I kissed his face, fixing his last expression in my memory. He seemed peaceful, as if he knew his time here was coming to an end. Sixty-two years old, full of life, with a wife, children, and grandchildren. And now, saying goodbye to life.

Life is a road filled with many farewells—some expected, others that take us by surprise.In the coming days, his passing is expected. I left feeling so small in relation to the world and everything in it. I kept thinking about how insignificant we are. I sat in my car and reflected on my own life—but at the same time, I felt grateful for having gone and for giving him a few moments of joy and remembrance.

I left that place carrying a mix of sadness and gratitude in my heart—sadness for the farewell, gratitude for the reunion.Goodbyes remind us of the value of simple moments, the ones that often go unnoticed. Like when I held his hand in silence, and his gaze said it all.Perhaps it is in that silence that the true music of life hides—the one that, because it cannot be heard, can only be felt in the heart of those who know how to listen.May our journey be filled with gestures that make a difference in someone’s life. I know that encounters like this make us reflect deeply on our own path. And I did reflect.

May God welcome him with love and kindness, in gratitude for all he did here.

See you someday, Dennis!