Gérson Silva Santos was a master watchmaker in the Recôncavo Baiano —
the son of an African who arrived in Brazil and settled in that land.
A man who spent his life working with precision: gears, time,
mechanisms that only function when each part is in its right place.
From that origin remained also the Twi language
— the Akan tongue of West Africa — as a living inheritance inside the family.
I grew up with that name and that lineage.
My father was a federal police officer —
and died in service while I was still a child.
What remained was his absence, and the woman who decided that absence would not be the end.
My mother was left alone with small children and built —
again, and again — businesses in beauty and aesthetics. Salons, wellness spaces, companies
that existed because she existed. There was no manual.
There was determination and the refusal to let loss define destiny.
The question that stayed was not "why do people suffer" — it was
"why do some cross through and others don't."
That question led to psychology. Psychology led to the laboratory. The laboratory led to the clinic.