Another view of history

hello little bird

It was 2017, and a few friends of mine wouldn't stop bugging me to go with them to a concert in São Paulo. The problem was the distance: leaving Rio and facing a six-hour road trip. At first, I hesitated, but day by day, their persistence grew stronger: *"Come on, Max! Don't worry about a thing; we just want you to come along!"*

After days of persuasion, I finally gave in: *"Alright, let's go!"* The father of one of my friends, who had some kind of connection with the show's organizers, even went out of his way to invite me personally. With the decision made, I packed a simple bag—just a few clothes for the two days we'd spend in São Paulo.

I was curious, though still a bit reluctant; I wasn't a die-hard fan of Coldplay, but I liked a few of their songs and had respect for the band. Yet, the real reason I was there was my friends' enthusiasm, that invitation which felt almost like a collective mission.

We finally arrived at the house where we'd be staying. My friend's father hurried us along, a gleeful smile spread across his face:

— *Come on, get changed! We're already running late!*

In the rush, everyone started getting ready. When my friend saw me in my outfit, he gave me a curious look and asked:

— *Are you excited?*

I smiled and nodded:

— *Absolutely! I'm really looking forward to seeing the band!*

As I looked around at them, all dressed up and brimming with excitement, I realized I was about to experience something truly different. I didn't know what the night held, but the camaraderie and the group's energy filled me with the feeling that something special was just around the corner.

When we pulled into the concert parking lot, I was struck by the number of familiar faces all around me. It was as if some massive, unplanned reunion was unfolding right there. Old classmates, friends I'd met over the years—everyone seemed to be there. As soon as I stepped out of the car, people started waving and calling my name.

— *So glad you made it, Max!* — they said, smiling and greeting me from afar.

As we walked through the corridors leading to the stadium, I was wrapped up in hugs, handshakes, and warm laughter welcoming me back. It wasn't just the concert that had everyone buzzing; it was this warm atmosphere, as if each friend there was a part of a long-lost family, reunited once more. This feeling of belonging grew inside me, and suddenly, the concert itself became a small detail next to what truly mattered: these people, this moment.

Amidst the reunion with friends, one of them cracked a joke that made everyone laugh:

— *Don't worry, this time no one's going to try to grab you!*

It was an inside joke, carrying a funny memory with it. At a concert in Rio, some time back, one of the backstage artists had spent the entire night trying to catch my attention. But despite her persistence, she seemed... empty. She lacked that spark in her eyes, something that always revealed a person's true essence to me. Being with someone I sensed as superficial would have been poison for my soul, and my friends never let me live it down, turning the episode into a running joke.

Our laughter was cut short when one of the sound engineers called me over, saying he was having some trouble. I went to check it out, and it turned out to be a simple issue—a loose connection in one of the wires, which I fixed in no time. For them, no matter how small the fix, I always seemed to be "saving the event," which was amusing and, honestly, a bit gratifying. I returned to the group, and soon we were sharing stories, ideas, and even tossing around suggestions to make the show more immersive for the audience, which the others listened to with enthusiasm.