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

‘We are condemned to be free’ – Jean-Paul Sartre

With each dawn comes a silent ritual of resignation. Our awakening is dictated not by the song of birds or the sun’s caress but by the shrill cry of a clock that marks not time but our servitude.
We dress not for ourselves but for the world, a world that judges us more by what we do than by who we are. Work attire, like armor, protects us and, at the same time, imprisons us in others’ expectations.
The streets, filled with anonymous faces, are the veins through which the cold blood of capitalism flows. Each person, a pulsating cell of desire and need, moves not by will but by necessity.
Work, this omnipresent entity, defines us. ‘You are what you do,’ they say. But what remains of us when doing is merely a means to survive? This reality follows us even to the cubicles of work.
We sit, staring at screens flickering with promises of efficiency and success. But with every click, a piece of our soul is lost, dissipated in the endless network of obligations and expectations. This continuous loss of who we are propels us into a life rhythm where everything is accelerated.
We eat quickly, live quickly, and love quickly. Time, this precious currency is spent not on our dreams but on goals and objectives imposed upon us. In these fleeting moments, we perceive the finitude of life.
We return to our homes at the end of the day, tired, worn out, consumed. Our love, our children, our dreams – all waiting for a moment that never arrives.
And then, in a brief moment of silence, we ask ourselves: for whom do we live? For ourselves or the system that consumes us?
Money, this modern god, rules our lives with an iron fist. It buys our time, our energy, our passion – and leaves us empty, hungry for something more.
We sell ourselves in pieces, hour after hour, day after day. And what do we receive in return? Enough to keep existing, but never enough to truly live.
We continue, trapped in a cycle of consumption and work, where the only winner is the system that dominates us.
Our moments of happiness are brief and fleeting, like shooting stars on a cloudy night. We see, we wish, but before we can reach, they vanish.
Deep down, we know something is wrong, something profoundly unjust in this world we have built. But fear of change, of the unknown, keeps us in our chains.
And then, as the moon rises and the stars shine with indifference, we whisper to ourselves a silent promise of rebellion, of seeking a different path – a path that will lead us not just to survival but to life.
There comes a moment in our journey when the truth reveals itself in its raw form: we are temporary passengers on this earth. The discovery that our life is a fleeting flame in the vast universe ignites an urgent thirst to live, a hunger for experiences we painfully know to be greater than the time we have left.
We confront a solemn reality: we are but a breath in the wind of history, a wave breaking in the immensity of the ocean of time. The world, with its age-old indifference, will continue its course, unchanged by our absence. This perception of our insignificance is an awakening, a call to seek meaning and purpose in the days granted to us, not to leave a mark on the world, but to find peace and fulfillment in our existence.
About the Author
Gil Mildar is a 60-year-old Brazilian who made Aliyah a few years ago. He holds a Law degree from the Universidade do Vale do Rio dos Sinos in Brazil and a postgraduate degree in Marketing from the Universidad de Belgrano in Argentina. Over the years, he has had the opportunity to work in Brazil, Argentina, South Africa, and now Israel. For the past 30 years, his focus has been on marketing projects in Latin America.
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