Being Hinksch

I am growing my hair. Like, proper growing it. I think the last haircut I had was about 3 months ago, and that was just to tidy up the back and the sides. The top has been growing for about 7 months now. I don't think I ever let my hair grow so long, and I have no intention of cutting it anytime soon. This is something I always wanted, but due to many factors I never gave it a proper change to happen. But things are different now. With the big hair, came the curls. I always knew my hair curled when it grew - just one look at my dad in his young years and nothing was a surprise anymore. The thing is, I never left my hair grow long enough to see the curls getting their shape. The hair was never long enough to make any kind of curve. But things are different now. Many things changed in the last year - there is a whole theory about a cycle that starts and ends in my life every ten years, in round ages, or years that end with the number 3, like the year I was born. 2003, 2013, and 2023....

I could pretend this is about Halloween, but the truth is less supernatural: my ghosts are still very much alive, and it doesn't take much for them to manifest around me. This week, particularly, they are all coming together. By pure chance, I should add. So I will approach this in stages, I'll deal with them one by one. Or at least I'll try to, as I haven't been able to properly deal with this for a year so far. But I digress. For the sake of this exercise, I'll name them one, two and three, in the chronological order that they moved to the other side. We start with one. One I won't talk about what happened, because this has been discussed more than enough times. Both between us two, and on my own, with myself. All I want to tell you is that I am genuinely happy that you have come out of your shell. It gives me a smile whenever I see pictures of you surrounded by friends, living your best life, being a completely different person than you were when I met you. F...

Today I found out some things about myself. One of them? I'm broken. I have been broken for a while, but today I saw it. It was quite stupid, really. I was listening to a random song, one that I listened to thousands of times. But today, as soon as it started playing, it hit me. All at once. Things are not ok. I am not at the breakdown point yet, but I feel that I am on a path of no return. As of now, it is a matter of when, not if, will I break down. I am currently Ravel's bolero, about sixty per cent in. It's somewhat loud, but enough to make enough noise to be noticeable. But it's not at it's loudest. And after the loudest bit, it will end in an unbearable silence. It will end in the catharsis of me. The song I heard today was not this bolero, but bolero felt like me months ago. It was a sign, maybe the first one, and I did not see it. I did not have enough clues to see it. I am afraid. Truly afraid. I don't want to get there, even though I know I will. I mig...

I have always been a perfectionist. If you are one, you know how much a pain that can be. And in my case, I've always been a perfectionist towards myself. I'm never satisfied with what I do, I always think that I can do better. But also, whenever I set out to do something, I want it to be the absolute best, no space for anything other than perfect. That becomes particularly difficult for things in which I am not proficient. But something in my life has been slowly teaching me to try and be less perfect, and allowing myself to naked things that are great, or even good. Surprisingly, that something is my writing. I just finished writing my second book, a novel this time. It's not a Pulitzer prize contender, and I'm ok with that. Mainly because I am neither a writer, nor I ever intend to be one. But also, English is not my native language. When you think about it, just the fact that a non-native, who has no formal training in writing, was able to write not one, but two boo...

Chapter one: Anywhere but Brighton It was a cold and sunny Monday morning in January, the second day of the year, when I first entered the place where I would work for the next six months: Brighton’s police station. Our graduation ceremony took place some twenty days prior, but the holidays made it feel like it was another lifetime altogether. As I walked through the door of the police station, I thought about our final day at the academy, and the moment we were receiving our posting letters sprang to my mind. Up until that point, we had been training for the previous six months to become private investigators, and it had not been easy on any of us. We somehow formed a strong bond, and we were all very excited to see where life would take us next, who would be there with us, what we would do. After six months of books, lectures, videos and tests, we all wanted to get out of the classroom and get into the action. I remember all those things going through my mind the day I opened my lett...

He came in while I was doing a shift, and I was immediately attracted to him. He was extremely cute - still is. He was also on shift, but for a different organisation. He smiled and I melted inside. Equally fast was my conviction that he would never, ever, be into me. It's almost like I could hear a voice whispering in my ears: Hello! Have you seen him and have you seen you? Wake up, he would never look at you. Don't set yourself up for failure. We started to chat, I was extra campy and extrovert, which is the weird way my mind deals with feeling intimidated. I should be clear that he was not intimidating, but I felt that way because of my own demons. Maybe making my personality big is a way of rising to the the other person's height, the same way we are told to look big if we ever meet a bear - a real, animal one. Even though he was also a bear Oh, and my self deprecating humour, who multiplies by ten in these kind of situations. Probably, and here again I'm going in...

I was rewatching Glass Onion recently - I first saw it in the cinema when it was briefly on show - and it made me think about a song from my favourite Brazilian band, Pato Fu. The song is in Portuguese, but there's a bit of the lyrics that translate loosely to "you are like a bad movie, which I already know the end, and it's not at all original". Like Miles, one of the main characters from Glass Onion, I am not at all original. Most of the things I like and identify with, things that form my personality and my identity, are things I got from someone else. Let me start from the beginning: I always pick something up from a friend. An accent, a laughter, I swear I even picked up the need to pee more often from a friend. Whenever I become friends with someone, I incorporate something from them into my life. Then I started to think about the things I like the most in life. Poirot? Was introduced to me by a cousin. Pink Floyd: shown by another cousin. Almodovar came from a ...

If you haven't noticed yet, based on the three texts I already wrote about it, I just turned 40 years old on January 2nd, 2023. To mark this occasion, I made a list of 40 things I have done before turning 40.  Be completely naked online, willingly Be homeless Be in the middle of a sex sandwich Cry in front of someone else Date people from different genders Fly first class (as a passenger) Get a piercing Get a tattoo Get drunk Get high Go scuba diving Go to a theme park (like Disney) Go to a water park Go to Berghain and actually get in Go to Oktoberfest Have a heated argument with someone Have a master's degree Have my heart broke by someone Have sex in public Have sex with multiple people at once Learn another language Learn to drive stick Live in a different country Make up with someone I previously fought Marry the love of my life Meet and spend time with my four grandparents Move out of my parent's house Plant a tree Save someone's life Say goodbye to someone I love...

It's a little past midnight at home, almost five hours to go here. Four in my home country. Yogi called, the only one so far. I just poured myself a drink, I'm sitting by the pool. It's a nice evening to be out. I'm alone, with my noise cancelling headphones, listening to my favourite songs: Florence and the Machine, Pink Floyd, Pato Fu... As I take the first sip of my drink, I tell myself, in Portuguese: Happy Birthday, Bernardo. I'll be on my own for the next 24h. I mean, not entirely: I am currently on a layover, surrounded by my work colleagues, who said they would join me for a drink - but so far nobody showed up. I don't blame them, I wouldn't be out myself if this wasn't my birthday. We worked a long flight here. Everyone is tired, including me.  You might feel sad for me, but I am used to this life. This is not different than any other day, any other month, any other year. Throughout the years I learned to be flexible about dates, change the cale...

I remember very clearly when my dad turned 40. I was 12, still lived in the countryside and I remember he had a big party with his friends. I also remember him making a big deal out of it, saying how it changed his life, how it gave him a new perspective. A couple of years later, he would sell his business and take us to the capital city, where there would be better opportunities for his children I don't remember when my mom turned 40, though. I am sure there was some celebration, but I don't have any memories of it. I also don't think it was as big as my dad's. Probably because we had just arrived in a new city, they were renting instead of owning a house, working for the first time for someone else. But most important, they did not know many people. It was not what it could have been if they still lived in the countryside. I don't have many memories of my life in general between late childhood and late teens. My early to mid teen years were not an easy time for me...

For all my childhood and most part of my teenage years, my parents run their own business - a radio and TV station in a small town in the middle of nowhere in Brazil. I have many memories from that time, and I'd like to share two of them.  The first one was the end of a month: my parents were always extremely stressed at the end of a month, because that was the time they would have to pay their employees. And they always made sure to pay everyone on time, regardless of how that would affect their personal finances and our life at home. I remember the end of the month being the tightest part for us, which is usually the other way around when you work for someone else. But my parents always said that they had many people that depended on them, and they could not let those people down.  The other memory was at Christmas: every year they made a campaign asking those in need to send the station letters with what they wanted for Christmas, and those who had enough to adopt one of th...

I am writing a new book, and I am almost finished now. Before I publish it, here is a little teaser: the names of the chapters. Happy holidays! Chapter one: Anywhere but Brighton Chapter two: When you least expect it… Chapter three: ...the unexpected happens Chapter four: Do you want the truth to come out? Chapter five: Everyone is innocent… Chapter six: …until proven otherwise Chapter seven: Nothing to see here Chapter eight: Let me get this straight Chapter nine: No parent should see their children die Chapter ten: I know who did it Chapter eleven: The ripped pieces of cloth Chapter twelve: This is just the beginning

I look at you and see someone I don't wanna be. And it's taking me too long to realise I'm better off alone. This is the first verse of a very popular song in the gay world in my early 20s, when I started to go out. The song, surprise surprise, is called Alone, by Offer Nissim. It is a great tune, and it brings me amazing memories of my younger days. But it also makes me a bit sad, mainly because this was my song. A song that at least 4 different guys sent me, saying they thought about me when they heard it. I will give you some context, which is also probably an attempt to justify myself: I spent my teenage years closeted. I knew I liked boys, but I was terrified of the idea of being gay. I grew up in a very close minded, sexist and homophobic environment, and being gay was one of the worst things someone could be. I constantly heard some people close to me saying they would rather have their son being a murderer than being gay. That gays should be taken away from society,...

I don't normally do bandwagons on social media, unless it leads to something meaningful - help a cause, a campaign. Even then, I try to do it my way, so I can keep my uniqueness and my individuality. I won't go into the importance of uniqueness and diversity on this text, but if you know me well enough, you should also know that speech by heart. Back to bandwagons, a while ago I decided to break my rule and try the new trend on social media: ngl, a service where people could send you anonymous questions. Yes, part of me wanted to have some fun, but there was also a part of me who thought I could reach more people, especially those who felt the need to be anonymous. What started as a fun game turned into a way for someone to send me hate messages. I was truly shocked when I opened the page one day and found many messages with a very hateful and angry tone, all seemingly coming from the same person. I don't know exactly who that person is, but I have a very good idea of where...

I was chatting to a friend about social media, and how everything on it is fake, staged, a display of happiness that is not only unreal, it is also unaccessible. Amongst many other unreal and unaccessible things present on social media. And I thought about my main instagram profile, how it creates this curated reflection of my life - or better, a part of my life. Of course, one cannot show all of one's life on social media. But here I am, defending the idea of being more real in the unreal world, when my own feed is not. This idea stuck to me, bothered me, made me think.  I could start whining on instagram as well - I already do it here - but it would clash with what's left from my old OCD diagnosis when I was younger, which almost obliges me to apply order and method to the world. Instagram is for pictures, and descriptions of said pictures. Some people post images of text, and I have nothing to say about that because it's their feed, so it is none of my business. But I co...

No, I am not turning 50. In fact, this text has nothing to do with age. I'm actually here to talk about gauge. And maybe my poor rhyming skills. Someone recently told me that I should find a balance, and not be so intense. I don't remember exactly what they said, because it was in the middle of a somewhat heated discussion, but it was something along the lines of me being either 0 or 100. And what is right in the middle between 0 and 100? 42. No, wait. This the the answer to a different question. The number we are looking for here is 50. I am an intense person, with a strong personality. That's just who I am. I don't do it on purpose, I don't choose to be like that. It's my natural state, my default. Trust me, I wish I was less polarising. I think life would be easier for me. The husbear is chill and easygoing, and as a friend wisely said recently, does anyone ever really get upset with him? My intensity translate in the way I make friends. If I get to know some...

I once read one of those cheap self help books, and there was something along the lines of "sometimes you need to travel the whole world to realize what you want is right here, at home". I could never really relate to that: I left my small hometown in the middle of nowhere when I was 14 years old to move to a bigger city. It wasn't long until I realised not even my home country was enough for me. I left Brazil to Germany, Germany to the UK, and I'm still not sure this is the place I will be for the rest of my life. That feeling of always looking somewhere else stayed with me throughout my life, in every aspect of it, including the way I make friends. I have friends spread around the world, in different countries and timezones, and with time I became some sort of specialist in making and maintaining friendships far from home. It hasn't always been easy, there were some issues along the way, but they made me stronger and their lessons helped me build better friendsh...

Some days ago Yogi and I had a big argument. You see, we don't really fight a lot. We have a very peaceful relationship, mainly because we talk freely about everything, so things don't usually get to the point where they become an issue. And if they do, they would rarely become a fight. Besides, we are both averse to drama, stress, big scenes. If something becomes an issue, we talk it over and sort it out. Very rarely we have loud fights. This recent one was not a loud fight, but it was a serious argument about a deep issue. It was probably the closer we came to breaking up, at least from my side. In fact, there were only two other times where we came close to breaking up. I think this is a very good record for 11+ years together. I left the house halfway through the argument, because I needed to cool down and think about things. I don't walk away from an issue, but if I have stayed, I would have made decisions and acted in a way I did not want to, and I should not have. I ...

I remember I saw this in a Bridget Jones movie, one of the old ones, and I felt like it instantly clicked with me. As if someone was describing my life in a single breath. I even quoted it in another blog, although I never actually wrote about it. It goes exactly like this: "I mean, look at the state of us. You and me stumbled into the vip room by mistake and it's only a matter of moments before they show us the door." I have always felt like my life is that VIP room that I entered by mistake, and I keep waiting for someone to come and tell me that this was a mistake. And I am honestly surprised I am almost 40 years old and it still never happened - I am still in this VIP room.  I have a good life. There are punctual things I would like to be better, but in the big picture scheme of things, I like my life. I was very lucky to meet and marry the love of my life, and I honestly don't see us ever breaking up. I got to work as my childhood dream job, and with that I can t...

I am not perfect. I don't think I ever was, and I don't think I will ever be. I try my best to be kind, helpful and grateful in my life, but I don't always get it right. I like to believe that I get it right more today than I did yesterday, and tomorrow I will get it even more right because I am learning, every day, from my mistakes. But there is now and there will always be room for improvement. I have done some stuff in my life that I am not proud of. I will not get into specifics here - but not because I am ashamed of them, or I am trying to hide them. I just don't see the need to tell these stories. What I can tell is that I know they existed, I acknowledge and own them, and I use them to remind myself of not making those mistakes again. But they also make me think about the wood board and the nails. When I was growing up, someone told me that life is like a wood board, and we are nails. We use these nails on the wood board, and sometimes we realised that it was a m...