I had taken the bus outside Holborn station, it was a really warm day, the bus was packed. I managed to catch up with all messages on my phone, had at least 10 unread ones. After checking my inbox and replying everyone I played some jazz and put the phone in my back pocket. Half an hour later, near mine, I got off the bus and headed to Tesco to grab some bread. I was at the cashier when someone called me, it was a guy from work, I usually never talk to my work colleagues in the evening but it seemed urgent. And it was. He dropped a bomb over my head. They had discovered everything, they were coming after me, I left the bread behind and ran.

My bedroom was immaculate, I am very OCD sometimes, I like symmetry and aligned pens on my desk. The house was empty, both of my housemates were still out, maybe having a beer, I guessed. My suitcase was full of stuff, pictures, old bank statements, also a few hundred thousand pounds in cash. I found a picture of a young boy having his best time in a carnival party in São Paulo. I was so happy and I didn’t know that. After packing everything I could grab in 5 minutes I heard a noise in my door. What the fuck, this is it?! Is it them already? No way, I thought. Luckily it wasn’t anyone, so I left a note to my housemates saying I was going away, probably permanently. I got my suitcase, it was so heavy, used the stairs at the back of the building and called a Uber. Take me to Heathrow airport, I ordered.

The time came to board the plane, only 7 hours after booking the tickets. I detested that type of place, airports are the mirror of what society has become. Queues, angry people, disorganisation, fees to be paid. Strangers everywhere, people who think they are kings and queens only because they can afford a weekend away. They have no moral, they get drunk before even boarding their flights. They shout at each other, they make noises during the flight, and once there in their destination, they will make sure to make their presence a nightmare to the locals, they will leave litter at the beach, they will impose their language and culture over everyone and everywhere.

The flight would take at least another 2 hours to land, my hands were all really sweaty, I could feel my socks were wet. The flight attendant asked me if I was alright. I am alright, I said, lying, and then there was a queue for the toilet, everyone wanted to relieve themselves after a long haul flight. I had had 3 mini-bottles of wine and was planning a fourth, the flight was right above Belo Horizonte. I had never been there, I thought looking at the small window, that’s where a good friend of mine was born. Would I ever be able to go there one day?

A massive bloke sleeps in the front seat near the exit, I bump into him on purpose. He barely moves. I secretly envy him, last time I slept for a few hours was 24 hours ago when I woke up to go to work. And here I am now, 24 hours later, landing in my home town. Maybe last time I will ever come here.

It rains, intensely, I get a cab, 40 miles drive, traffic, cars, slums, fog, people, dogs, umbrellas, lots of umbrellas. I heard an air plane passing overhead. We are almost there. A dog stares at me from the other car, we both rest our faces at the wet window. We are almost there.

The anxiety kicks in. We are almost there. I have periods where, you know, when I feel a little weak or depressed. I just go to bed for three days, pull down all the shades and just go to bed. Get up. Shit. Piss. Eat. Look outside and go back to bed. We are almost there and it’s hard to concentrate, my mind processes a million different stories at the same time. We are almost there.

Five minutes away, I read in the Guardian that the Scotland Yard made it public, it’s everywhere, a Brazilian guy hacked the British banking system and left the country before they could close the borders.

Four months later they have finally found me. I saw the entire action in slow motion, dozens of agents surrounding my hotel. Probably the first time the FBI made it to my home town.

Funny or not, I didn’t do anything wrong, I found a security flaw, I got in, I left, closed the door and never came back. Then I tried to tell them about it, but before that I was already a wanted target.

Life is unfair. Life is unfair. Life is unfair. Life is unfair.

Unfair life.

Life in prison is hot and cold. It’s hard to control your mind. But easy to live a life without a single worry.

Everything I can think of is that sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I’m not going to make it, but you laugh inside – remembering all the times you’ve felt that way.