It is late May of 2022

It is late May of 2022, I’m completely overwhelmed by the final tests and assignments of my 5^th semester at the university, the autumn is dry and calm, the country is either in shambles after a coup d’état or in shambles after an impeachment. I may already be vaccinated against covid, but who knows. If everything goes right, which is highly unlikely, I might be getting ready to travel to another state to cover the Ouro Preto Film Festival, a local festival held every autumn in a historical city famous for its colonial architecture and quaint cobblestone lined streets. The air is feeling fresh and crisp, I’m tired and overworked, stressed about the upcoming presidential election and dreaming with the ever-approaching end of my graduation.

There’s just too much in my mind, too many worries and not enough time to worry about them. I could be working on a short film that I’m writing, or I could be doing some research for my final thesis. It is a cliché to write it, but there’s a whole world of possibilities before me, and I couldn’t possibly know what to do if I don’t stand up and work for it. Besides thinking of possibilities and realities, I want to ponder on what I want to happen a year from now.

I want a scholarship to research the relationship that Brazilians have with the foreign cinema and their distaste of national cinema. I want a steady job that could allow me to move from my parent’s house. I want to live in a city and a country where there’s no people going hungry while the rich get richer. I want peace here in Rio and for every Palestinian that has been treated and an animal by their colonizers. I want justice for Marielle, I want free and fair elections, I want more than this provincial life.