Born in Curitiba — and there's no cure for that.

I'm from Curitiba. There's no cure for that.

The city is cold, gray, full of a fine drizzle that doesn't soak you — it just insists. I grew up in it without noticing it was growing up in me.

One day I left. Every Curitiba native leaves once, thinking the longing will fit in a suitcase. It doesn't. I lived under other skies, learned other languages, ate bread that wasn't from here. Lovely. But the drizzle was missing.

I came back. One always does. Because a first love is never forgotten — it only waits. And Curitiba waits well: sitting on a bench in Passeio Público, sipping coffee with no hurry.

Today I code by day and walk by night. The araucarias still stand with open arms, stubborn like me. The city taught me the essentials: to be discreet, to be precise, to love without fanfare.

Cold on the outside, warm on the inside. Like well-written code. Like me.