When a Boy in Glasses Remembers the Girl Who Grew Up in Israel

I always laugh at myself when I think about it — me, this “Luso-German kid in glasses,” standing at a tram stop in Frankfurt and talking to you in my head like we’re still in that tiny primary school classroom where we shared one broken pencil. And yeah, listen, you probably didn’t expect me to randomly show up in your thoughts after all these years, but aqui estamos — here we are — and I’ve got things to tell you.

And if you’re already here listening to me ramble, you might as well check out the videos we’ve got on the main page — plenty of stuff about desire, brains, memories, all the things adults pretend they don’t watch but, come on, não sejas assim, don’t act like you don’t know exactly what I mean.

Anyway.
I keep imagining you somewhere in Tel Aviv, maybe grabbing iced coffee on Dizengoff, or arguing with the wind on the beach near Gordon, hair everywhere — you always hated it when your hair had opinions. And I wonder if you’d roll your eyes the same way now when I say something stupid. You probably would.

The funny part is that every time I think about you, my brain opens some old drawer I didn’t know still existed.
And you’re probably thinking, “Why now?”
Well… ты ж понимаешь, как это работает?
Memories don’t die; they just hide until a smell or a color drags them out.

I once told my cousin:
— “It’s weird, man, she’s like a ghost from childhood.”
He looked at me and went:
— “Ghost? Bro, sounds more like unfinished business.”
And I said:
— “Vai te catar, dude, not everything is a telenovela.”
But deep down I knew he wasn’t completely wrong.

Sometimes I picture this bizarre conversation between us, like in those old Israeli cafés near Carmel Market where the tables wobble and every chair squeaks.

— “You’re serious?”
— “Absolutely.”
— “So tell me what you really wanted to say.”
— “Later. You’ll make fun of me.”

Ok, fine, let me come back to the thought.

There’s this thing I keep noticing: whenever I think about desire — mine, yours, anybody’s — you somehow show up in the middle of the thought like you never left.
Ты сейчас наверняка подумал… что я пытаюсь быть романтичным?
А вот и нет.
It’s just how memory works.
Or how hormones work.
Or how the universe likes trolling us.
Pick one.

Honestly, I cracked up the day I realized that half the things adults want start forming when we’re like eight.
Yeah, eight.
I know you’re laughing right now.
Me too.

But tell me this — you ever notice how your brain mixes old stuff with new stuff?
Like you walk on Allenby, someone smells like that girl from fifth grade, and boom — instant emotional glitch.
And you absolutely pretend it’s not happening because “you’re grown now.”
Давай без театра.
Não faças fita.
Same thing.

There’s always a moment you don’t expect. Like in the S-Bahn yesterday, a girl with a red scarf sat down across from me. Nothing special. But the way she folded it?
You used to fold yours like that in winter.
And suddenly my brain went:
“Oh. So we’re doing this today?”

A ты думал, что будет иначе?
Memories are petty. They like attention.

Okay, I’m drifting again.
Back to the main idea.

Desire — real desire, the stuff we never talk about out loud — it’s half nostalgia, half curiosity, half something you don’t admit even to the mirror.
Yes, I know that’s three halves.
Math is for engineers, not for people trying to figure out why a childhood friend still pops into their thoughts after twenty years.

And you, sitting somewhere in Israel, maybe near Florentin with your new adult life and whatever routine you have — I wonder if you ever think back to those stupid days when we traded snacks like it was international diplomacy.

Sometimes I imagine you answering me.
I know exactly how it would sound.

— “You’re overthinking again.”
— “Of course I am.”
— “Some things don’t need analysis.”
— “That’s exactly why I’m analyzing them.”

See?
Still the same nonsense.

But there’s this one more thought — yeah, I know, I talk too much — that I keep circling back to.

You ever notice how some desires feel new even though you know damn well they’re old?
Like they just changed outfit and pretended to evolve?
А вот так оно и устроено.
Brains recycle.
Hearts recycle.
Everything recycles except people’s honesty.

And, ok, verunscht… let me say this without trying to sound dramatic: sometimes I wonder what version of yourself lives in your own head when you think about me.
If you still picture that goofy kid with oversized glasses.
Or if you know I grew up.
Or if you don’t think about me at all.
All three options make sense. Maybe all three are true at different times.

And yeah, I know what you’re about to say — “Why are you telling me all this?”
Because, sei lá… someone has to say it.
And because thinking about you sometimes hits the same part of the brain that wakes up when I browse those videos we host — you know the ones.
Не делай вид, что ты этого не делаешь.
We’re adults now.
Curiosity hits different.

Let me break the flow again — ok, back to the thought — I’m just trying to figure out how two kids from a tiny European classroom ended up on opposite ends of the Mediterranean, carrying pieces of each other

Maybe it’s nothing.
Maybe it’s something.
Maybe it’s just nostalgia messing with me.

But if you ever want to know what kind of memories other people turn into desires — ну ты понял — the main page has enough videos to give you answers I can’t phrase.

For now, I’m just here, waiting for the next tram, talking to you in my head like we never stopped.