Far From Home, Under the Heat of a Dozen Suns - Panama

So far from home, under the heat of a dozen suns.

One of those moments where you don’t just feel change—you collide with it. It grips your chest, forces itself into your lungs, and leaves no room for escape. You either adapt, or it breaks you.

Growing up, I had very present parents, even a bit overprotective. It was common as a teenager to feel the walls close in while my friends explored the world. Travel wasn’t an option. Brazil is dangerous, and they were right to be cautious. But when you grow up sheltered, you start questioning if you were built to survive outside the cage.

And there I was.

At the heart of Central America, with my entire business packed into a backpack—a MacBook, an iPad, cables, the tools I had built my life around. A single carry-on dragging my wardrobe across continents.

I had just left Medellín in Colombia—a place that had felt more like home than home itself. Two months there had left a permanent mark, but I was already being pulled away. I barely slept that night, knowing my journey wasn’t over yet.

I had one last mission. I needed to walk the Amador Causeway.

Medellin didn't want to say goodbye.

And I knew I would.

As the plane descended into Panama City, the pressure in my eardrums felt like my head was imploding. I swallowed hard, waiting for relief, but it never came.

Then the doors opened, and the heat hit me like an ambush.

Not warmth—fire.

It was so hot that I felt like the sun wanted to argue with me for being there.

No internet. I refused to spend 20 dollars on a SIM card for just one day.

Uber? Might as well have been a flight back home.

That left me with only one option: Public transportation.

And honestly? That was the best thing that could’ve happened.

The metro was salvation—cool, clean, an oasis in a furnace. But the real test came after. Three metro rides, one missed stop, my Spanish failing me just when I needed it most.

Still, I made it. Not because it was easy, but because I refused not to.

Upon arrival, I knew instantly.

I was standing in a place that would forever split my life into before and after.

That was the farthest I had ever been from home, and I was alone.

No friends. No family. No connection. No one waiting on the other side of a screen.

Just me.

For the first time, I felt the full weight of my own existence.

I stood there, staring at the ocean, and felt the past clinging to me like a desperate ghost.

The boy who once taught English, who once wondered if he could ever escape, who had once been shattered into a million pieces—he was still there, gripping my ribs, whispering doubts into my ears.

But the man I was becoming? He was stronger. And he wasn’t asking for permission.

It was liberating yet sad in a way, as if the man I was meant to become was in a fight with the boy I once was to let the new version take control.

And in that moment, I realized something.

The past wasn’t real anymore.

It was just a memory fading into dust.

I had grown into my full form. Independent. Sharpened. Confident. Ready to take over the world.

When I landed back in São Paulo, the shift was immediate.

Same city. Same people. But nothing felt the same.

I went straight to a wedding, where I was the best man, and suddenly, I could see it in their eyes. The way they looked at me. The way they spoke to me.

They felt the change, even if they couldn’t name it.

After all, who else in my circle had done what I had done?

Who else had left everything behind, moved through foreign cities alone, built something from nothing?

No one.

And that’s when I finally respected myself.

That’s when I finally understood: I had earned my place.

If you have the chance—go.

Far away. Alone.

Find a place where your past means nothing.

Where no one knows you.

Where no one speaks your language.

Where you will never be the same again.

This will transform you from the inside out, forever.