HeyJaredFilipa Motta
I write about the messy, human side of building things—businesses, books, identities, and lives.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 10
- Latest publication
- Sep 20, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 12, 2026
Latest issues
The Robot Ballerina and Other Inflexibilities (opens the original)
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The shiny leotard revealed my belly. The baby pink stockings wrapped my legs, finishing on the ballet slippers that never lost the smell of new leather. The piano travelled on a staccato. I was whirling around the room, watching the girl reflected in the mirror. I didn’t look like a ballerina and I knew it. I was more Little Miss Sunshine style. Even when trying my hardest, I wouldn’t stretch. The other dancers sat on a split with the softness of melting butter. I looked like a robot having a se
Airport Dramas and Borrowed Courage (opens the original)
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I had just abandoned my father. He was standing still on the other side of the barrier. His arms hanging, too far to reach me. He was crying. His shoulders shaking with the electricity of emotions. His eyes drooped, as if the sadness was pulling the skin down. Everything spilling out but contained by the artificial breeze ventilating the building. Everything white around us, like that was a neutral space. It wasn’t. It was a striking red, bloody battlefield. I continued, dragging a heavy decisio
Reserving Life for Special Occasions (opens the original)
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There was a room that no one visited. The forbidden door called me. I got sucked in. The secret division didn’t seem to belong in that house. The outside was bubbly with sounds: grandpa rinsing his throat with peppermint elixir; grandma singing bésame mucho in the kitchen. And then the wall. The unvisited space. Silent, sterilized. Inside, there was a big, dark piece of furniture. It smelled of old, polished wood. The shelves were full of little plates, crystal bottles, vintage wines and exotic
Inspector Gadget Is Onboard (opens the original)
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A persistent internal roar. Almost like a scream. “Hunger is psychological, stop it now”, I told myself. My wrist pulsated with pain. The weight of heavy trays, carried for hundreds of hours, was finally showing its effects. I put an elastic band around it and continued. The feet strangled inside tight stockings, sweating, wet. After 14 duty hours, I reached the hotel. I undressed my disguise. Hat off, gloves off, smile off. The hair glued to the scalp with spray, its tips hedgehog style. I rest
The Piano I Didn't Touch for More Than 20 Years (opens the original)
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I was blind. White keys, white light, everything too white. So white that it became dark. With the vibration of the last note, my brain switched off. There was nothing. No words, no bows, not even a thought. Just a plain space becoming wider and emptier in my head. The judges were looking at me. Eight pairs of eyes fixed on the target. I couldn’t move a muscle. Pretending to be dead would be the most comfortable way to escape the situation I was in, but I hadn’t practiced the art of theatre deat
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