Architecture Between Art and Logic
A programmer who found in code a form of non-technical art, a craft where form and function do not compete, but demand each other.
I seek neither mystical elevation nor the approval of the heavens. My life is not a sacred opera; it is a Goliard’s chant, that monk who, after understanding the silence of God, chose to sing to the tavern, to the flesh, and to capricious fate. I am the percussion of O Fortuna: rhythmic, earthly, at times harsh, and always inexorable.
I do not pursue “virtue” as a medal; rather, I move under the rigor of an ethic of my own. I am the exile who at 17 lost a roof over his head, but found the world. Without classrooms to validate me, I turned curiosity into my only home, learning that language —be it English, Portuguese, or Italian— is not a credential, but a bridge to the other.
No Masks: Architecture of Survival
For years, I learned to hold a gaze steady when my inner circuits begged to flee. I was diagnosed with the confusion of those who do not understand autism or ADHD, and in response, I learned to adapt, to navigate the social without ceasing to be who I am.
There is no perfect mask, because I never stopped being there.
A programmer who found in code a form of non-technical art, a craft where form and function do not compete, but demand each other. Because true mastery lies not in choosing between the two, but in making them inseparable.
I am that child who was denied art and who, through an adolescent tantrum, nearly rejected logic, only to end up embracing both in an amalgam of cynicism and empathy.
“I am the one who finds peace in philosophy because it is the only place where the questions matter more than the answers.”
The Legacy of Carbon Dioxide
My mark will not be a monument of stone, but the subtle alteration of the air I breathe. Every gram of CO2 I exhale is proof that I consumed life voraciously. When I die, I will reintegrate into the earth without resistance, but I will leave behind an invisible trail:
The profound admiration for the woman who is my best friend, my wife, and my refuge.
The gaze of the onlooker who watches, heart in his throat and in stoic silence, the growth of a child.
The strength and tenderness of one who knows that each day is, simultaneously, the happiest and the last.
Final Sentence
I am a temporal being. I am self-taught by necessity and a philosopher by choice. I am not conventional, nor do I pretend to be. Today, at 36 years old, I celebrate that fortune has allowed me to fall in love with reality as it is: raw, beautiful, and finite.
I exist. And that, for now, is more than enough.