16/06/2026

I arrived at the Lisbon Book Fair imagining a simple hour of autographs.

What unfolded was something else.

There were unexpected embraces, conversations that stretched beyond signatures, familiar faces and strangers who stopped to share fragments of their own stories. Children waited patiently beside their parents. Readers lingered. Friends crossed the city to be there. Some arrived with books already marked by anticipation, others discovered Quando os Ventos Mudam by chance.

For a book born from silence, observation and an inner journey that began in Nepal, witnessing it find its place among so many hands and voices felt quietly extraordinary.

I often say that books continue their journey long after they leave the writer's desk.

Perhaps this is what that journey looks like.

Not measured in numbers, but in presence.

In eye contact.

In listening.

In the generosity of those who choose to stop, sit down, ask questions, offer a hug, and carry a story home.

The winds continue to change.

And for all those invisible threads that brought us together in Lisbon, I remain deeply grateful.