My Reflections AFTER A TRIP to colombia and the birth of a mantra:

I never expected my search for manhood to bring me to the heart of the Colombian rainforest, where every breath felt like inhaling the essence of the earth itself—damp, rich, and alive. Each inhale reminded me how far I was from home, from the life I thought I wanted. The deafening roar of the helicopter that had dropped me here lingered in my mind, though it was long gone, swallowed by the emerald expanse of the canopy. Now I trudged forward, surrounded by brothers, each of us cloaked in silence, weighed down by burdens we hadn't yet spoken aloud.

Half an hour later, we stumbled into a clearing, sunlight piercing the canopy to light a circle of rough-hewn logs. At its center stood a spiritual leader, his calm presence grounding us in the wilderness. Even the jungle seemed to quiet—the usual hum of life suddenly still, as though the very earth wanted to listen. We settled into the circle, sweat streaking our faces, the air thick with unasked questions. Then the leader broke the silence: “My brothers, what does it mean to be a man?”

Tomás, an environmentalist, went first. His voice trembled as he described rivers poisoned, the Amazon scorched, animals displaced without remorse. “Our greatest natural ecosystem,” he said, desperation clear in his tone, “is vanishing. And humanity sleeps through it.” Tears traced lines down his cheeks, carving raw emotion into his face.

Then a silver-haired philanthropist shared his truth. He confessed how wealth had seduced him into chasing bigger yachts, bigger houses—goals that strayed from his mission to help children in impoverished regions. “I can write checks,” he admitted, his voice heavy with regret, “but I can’t buy back the time I’ve lost.” His vulnerability struck something within me, something uncomfortable and undeniable.

I listened, absorbing the stories, but the truth brewing inside me finally burst forth. It wasn't planned; it wasn't polished. It just erupted. “Starting a mission is one thing,” I said, my voice surprising even me. “Igniting that spark is one thing. But keeping the fire burning? That’s what separates a fleeting moment from a real legacy.”

The words hung in the air, weighty and unshakable. The circle fell silent, heads turning to look at me as if waiting for me to explain what I hadn’t even fully understood. Even the jungle seemed to pause, the crickets and distant rustle of leaves momentarily absent. My chest tightened, my heart pounding. Had I been chasing sparks my whole life, only to let them die as the applause faded? The revelation hit me with a force I couldn’t ignore.

From that moment on, everything felt sharper—more visceral. The days that followed were a physical and emotional grind. We trudged through treacherous trails, boots sinking into mud, every step testing our endurance. But the nights… the nights were spent by the fire. Its warm glow danced across faces etched with struggle and renewal.

That fire became a mirror, its embers reminding me of the truth I’d spoken: keep the fire burning.