I want to share something that happened last weekend.
I joined an LGBT hackathon here in Rio. I didn't expect it to be such a moving experience. For two days, our team – me, Fernando, and a few others – worked on a project we called 'The Memorial Wall.' A digital memorial dedicated to LGBT people who experienced persecution, bullying, who left this world too soon.
It wasn't about technology for technology's sake. It was about creating a space where these stories won't be forgotten. Where someone can light a virtual candle, leave a flower, write a few words of remembrance. While building it, we listened to stories from families, from friends – each one like a small memory box that someone opens with trembling hands.
Fernando, who usually works with wood and his hands, was coding this time. I saw him step away a few times to catch his breath. This isn't an easy subject, but it's a necessary one. There's a weight to building something that holds grief – and also hope. Every name on that wall is a life that mattered, a story that deserves to echo beyond silence.
I feel proud that we could do at least this much. And deeply grateful that here, in Rio, such initiatives find both space and open hearts. The city has its contradictions, but in moments like these, you feel the pulse of something real – people coming together not for profit or clout, but because remembering is an act of love.
Now that the hackathon is over, I keep thinking about all those names on our wall. About the families who trusted us with their pain. And about how memory – even digital, even made of code and pixels – can be a form of tenderness.
With love,
Marek
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