I write creative nonfiction and autofiction rooted in the lives of Brazilian women, their bodies, their losses, their resilience, and their refusal to be silenced. I have been writing since I was nine years old. My first book was called The Magic Star, a story about a little girl who escaped her bedroom at night to visit the stars, rising above all earthly miseries. I threw it away. I have regretted it ever since.

I could not, however, throw writing away. It followed me from the suburbs of São Paulo to Denmark, and from Denmark to Belgium, where I now live. It filled journals that feel more like myself than I do. Writing erupted during a pandemic, on a dark autumn evening in Denmark, when a dear friend said: “Andréia, you should write a book. Other people need to know your story.” Something left the genie’s lamp that night. It refused to go back inside.

My work sits at the intersection of the personal and the political, the intimate and the urgent. I am the author of three completed works: Wild Dandelions, Roses in the Wreckage, and The Heart of Others. A trilogy of memory, survival, and transformation, all currently seeking a publishing home.

I write to heal. I write to not forget. I write because otherwise the volcanic archipelagos of my emotions would erupt inside me.

For the wild flowers out there, who grow despite the hostility of their lives.