The question

The whisper of the cold wind brushed her hair away from her collarbone, exposing her ears to humanity’s untold secrets—secrets she did not care for. In the middle of confusion, the brain roams through a labyrinth of memories. Where past collides with future, and all she has is the present.
He was ninety-two.
The perfect balance of the cosmos reflected onto the sidewalk, a twinkling masterpiece trailing her steps as she hides under the dark manteau. Her footprints carefully embossed by the emitting skylight follow her into the coffee shop.
A quiet man with a loud presence. Gone.
The crinkling green neon dictates permission of entry – “open.” She enters her haven, orders, sits. After a thousand goodbyes and sorrowful cries, she craves silence. Thoughts run free from conscience. Knowledge. Humanity’s burden. Only once before had she felt this way: so well acquainted with death, yet so full of life.
It was 1993; she was four years old. As a child, she was spontaneous, allowing her imagination to nurture the creativity that has become so prominent in her adult personality. The queen of her play, she created her kingdoms, slew her dragons, and dreamed of her prince charming. She dipped her cookies in milk, sprinkled her frosted cupcakes, and meticulously ate the head of her animal crackers (their disguise could not fool her; she knew they were from the evil land of the WIDDLE BERRIES). She was naïve, perhaps; nevertheless, she was curious. Whats, Whys, and Hows that never ceased to amaze her parents and challenge her realities.

She wanted to know about how the world worked—the adult world that is. She wanted to know why the sky was blue, where snowmen went, and how come grandma and Lilard (her two month old Shar-pei puppy) had similar skin. She was a fast learner; she could tie her own shoes and spell her own name. Years would pass before she realized the value of not knowing the unknown.
To this day, the haunting question challenges her intellect and chases her sleep away. She suppresses her mind and finds comfort in her cup of Joe. At nineteen, she does not recall why her four-year-old brain was puzzled with the subject. Like most childhood memories, the scenario is fuzzy, but the feeling vibrates, echoes, lives on. Desperation, belittlement, the first steps into her own human distress. Death. Is it true that people die? So there is an end? No happily ever after? Time and Mind had slowly stripped her of her ignorance—a child’s greatest gift. Why do we live to die?

Hello .

My name is Thais Pareja Blumenthal de Moraes (Since you probably have a migraine after trying to pronounce that, here is a phonetic version: TYeeese PArehha Blumenthal de More-ice). Thai Thai for the few intimate and treasured friends; Tmoney for the ones who are yet to graduate from the Thais ladder of trust. Born in the Brazilian“jungle”, raised in the Arizonan desert, and educated in the heart of America. The runner, the yogini, the artist, the writer, the student, the sister, the daughter; Yes, I am a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll.

My artistic perception, and my global view, has allowed me to develop a keen eye for creativity and innovation. I am a passionate apprentice of the mind and of the soul. An undergraduate student at the GW School of Business, I am currently seeking a Bachelor in Business Administration with a Marketing and International Business dual concentration and Communication minor. Academia has taught me the laws of human nature; Time has taught me the physics of between the I and the me. Two years have passed since I first cruised across the country to the infamous Washington D.C. Time flies. Spring closes its curtains announcing the start of yet another summer. It is time for another move out.

After a five-hour flight and a good thirty minutes of anxious nail biting, they arrived.

My heart thumps as my suitcases slowly roll down the baggage claim. Seventy –five pounds of memories, style, and class slowly approached me. Relief, a feeling only a worried mother would understand, or Gollum - Uuuuhhh yess yess yess myyyy precious uhhhh!!

I am a late, I will pick you upcurbside, Go to the North exit ok?, Oh wait detour ok ok go to the South exit. I will be right there, I got to go love you.

Wait Dad! beep beep beep.

North, South, curbside, What? Sleep deprived and confused; I was a human U-haul truck driving twenty miles below the speed limit on a one- way road. After one too many phone calls, and mistranslations, my dad finds me battling with the enemy (Evil oversized duffle bag one, me…zero). Wow. He has white hair. Am I really home?

Rock. Cactus. Rock. Rock. Cactus. More rocks. Sweet home Arizona. A place where parking is determined by shade, and 98 F is considered a relatively “cool” day. A place where I have gone to high school, played sports, engaged in childish play, and essentially grew up. Although my family has been living here for eight years, the explorer-me has always awakened a drive to be somewhere new. It was by moving away from Arizona that I began to understand and appreciate the charms of its mountains and the value of its dryness. The sun rising behind the guardians of the valley illuminates a balanced harmony between Architect and Desert. Today, I look beyond the flat horizons, in a search for inspiration, a search of who I am and who I am yet to become.