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Gil Mildar
As the song says, a Latin American with no money in his pocket.

Impermanence

The planet turns, slowly and indifferently, as if no clocks had stopped and no eyes were left waiting for a horizon that never arrives. Today, it is winter, but summer already presses forward, timid yet insistent, like a guest who never asks for permission. Everything is in motion — the sky, the clouds, our certainties. Life is a dance with no prescribed steps: it sways back and forth, rises and falls, sometimes forgetting where it began.

Impermanence. For those who have everything, it is a threat. For those who live in emptiness, it is a promise.

Today, they announced that the hostages will return. A piece of paper was signed at some distant table, with formal gestures, cold glances, and handshakes burdened by nothing. They say it will happen on Monday, but what is a Monday for those who have lost track of the days? To those who have spent months in the dark, trapped between waiting and being forgotten?

And all of this will change, too. Because pain changes. Hope changes. Even fear, which feels eternal, will one day dissolve. This is impermanence’s cruel and beautiful truth: it never asks for permission but always arrives.

And when it changes — because it always does — what remains is to be here. To breathe. To endure. To carry life as one holds something fragile yet irreplaceable. And to listen. To hear the world, which, even in its weariness, still finds the strength to whisper:

“Live, just be yourself. Be, even if you do not yet understand what it means.”

About the Author
As a Brazilian, Jewish, and humanist writer, I embody a rich cultural blend that influences my worldview and actions. Six years ago, I made the significant decision to move to Israel, a journey that not only connects me to my ancestral roots but also positions me as an active participant in an ongoing dialogue between the past, present, and future. My Latin American heritage and life in Israel have instilled a deep commitment to diversity, inclusion, and justice. Through my writing, I delve into themes of authoritarianism, memory, and resistance, aiming not just to reflect on history but to actively contribute to the shaping of a more just and equitable future. My work is an invitation for reflection and action, aspiring to advance human dignity above all.
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