Lyrics

I’ve tried to run, was a hard decision
I’ve tried to hide from ghosts
I couldn’t fight and I had no reasons

To stay and be alone
I don’t even feel like home

I wasn’t wrong
They said I did that crime
But you know it’s not the true

I can’t back home
But I need somehow
Tell my secrets now to you

I can’t back home
But I need somehow
Tell my secrets now to you

I wasn’t wrong
They said I did that crime
But you know it’s not the true

To stay and be alone
I don’t even feel like home

I wasn’t wrong
They said I did that crime
But you know it’s not the true

I can’t back home
But I need somehow
Tell my secrets now to you

I can’t back home
But I need somehow
Tell my secrets now to you

But I need somehow
Tell my secrets now
I can't back home

But I need somehow
Tell my secrets now
I can't back home

I can back home
Cause I need somehow
Tell my secrets now
To you, ohhhhhhh

I can back home
Cause I need somehow
Tell my secrets now to you

Tell my secrets now

I can't back home

The Secret and Inspiration

I tried to run away many times.

I ran away from home, I ran away from the streets, I ran away from people—but mostly, I ran away from myself. For years I carried an invisible sentence: I was the guilty one.

At ten years old, my parents separated. Until then, my life was ordinary. School, television on at night, my father coming home from work, my mother organizing the house. Nothing extraordinary. But whole.

After the divorce, everything became silent.

No one told me I was the reason. No one pointed the finger. But no one hugged me either. No one explained anything to me. No one assured me that I hadn't caused it.

For a child, absence is confirmation.

My mother was never affectionate. After the separation, she became even more distant. There were no kisses, no hugs, no "I love you." My father, who had always been more affectionate, rebuilt his life. New wife. New children. New story. I wasn't part of that chapter.

He disappeared.

I stayed.

And in the emptiness that remained, I planted guilt.

I began to believe that I had done something wrong. That I wasn't enough. That, somehow, I had broken the family.

Brasília was always too organized a city for the chaos I lived in inside. Perfect superblocks. Straight lines. Concrete. Exact distances. But inside the house, everything was crooked.

My mother started a relationship with a younger man. He didn't help financially. On the contrary. She supported the household. And I… I learned to survive.

There were days when I didn't have money for the bus. I'd break down the back door, run inside like a criminal. My stomach ached with hunger while I watched adults arguing about responsibilities.

My mother inherited three apartments. My uncles did too. Money wasn't the problem. Indifference was.

She said the responsibility was my father's.

He said he had left a paid-off house.

In the midst of this game, I grew up too fast.

At thirteen, I started making deliveries for neighborhood drug dealers. Adult men would recruit me. I accepted. I needed the money. I needed to feel useful. I needed to confirm the identity I already believed I had.

If I was the mistake, then I would be the complete mistake.

Petty crimes followed. Nothing I'm proud of. Nothing that defines me. But enough to reinforce the internal narrative: "You are the problem."

I finished my studies. Against all the invisible statistics that pushed me down, I graduated as an industrial designer. I got a job. I grew. I worked as if each promotion was an attempt at absolution.

Twenty years later, I was a manager at the largest company in the country.

But I still felt like the boy who broke into buses.

My success didn't erase the hunger.

My position didn't erase the abandonment.

My competence didn't erase the guilt.

I wanted to prove to my mother that I had succeeded without her.

I wanted to prove to my father that I wasn't disposable.

But the congratulations never came.

And the silence, in adulthood, hurts more than the misery of adolescence.

For decades I repeated to myself:

"I wasn't wrong."

But, deep down, I still believed I was.

Until Bali.

I went there almost by chance. Work, rest, escape—I can't say. It was there that I met a Russian psychologist who worked with therapeutic regression. I didn't really believe in those things. But something in me was tired of running.

In the session, I didn't go back to past lives. I went back to a small room in Brasília. I went back to a ten-year-old boy sitting on the bed, listening to his parents argue.

I saw myself.

And, for the first time, I felt compassion for that boy.

He wasn't to blame.

He didn't destroy any marriage.

He wasn't responsible for immature adults.

He was just scared.

When I left that session, something had changed. It wasn't explosive. It wasn't cinematic. It was silent.

I didn't need to prove anything anymore.

I didn't need to win to be accepted anymore.

I didn't need to carry responsibility that was never mine anymore.

I didn't need to save my mother in her old age.

I didn't need to compensate for my father's absence.

They made choices.

I survived the consequences.

For years I told myself I couldn't go back home.

But I realized that "home" was never Brasília. It was never that physical structure. It was never the broken family.

Home was me.

And I had spent forty-five years running away from that place.

Today I can go back.

Not to ask for explanations.

Not to seek validation.

Not to reopen wounds.

But to exist without guilt.

I committed no crime.

I was just a child trying to understand abandonment.

And now, finally, I can tell my secrets—without fear, without shame, without needing absolution.

I can go home.

Because home, now, is me.

France - Performance

Each country profile presents the most recent data available on a range of indicators relating to the well-being of women and children. Each country profile page is composed of data from multiple sources, depending on the indicator domain. For example, child mortality rates come from the most recent data produced by the UNICEF-led Inter-agency Group for Child Mortality Estimation (IGME).

SDG indicators related to children

The 2030 Agenda includes 17 Global Goals addressing the social, economic and environmental dimensions of sustainable development. Attached to the Goals are 169 concrete targets measured by 232 specific indicators.

To map and monitor how ambitious and realistic countries’ targets are, UNICEF has created quantifiable country-level benchmarks for child-related indicators for which data are available to measure and monitor child rights on a common scale.

Below is a snapshot of the country’s performance against the 45 child-related SDG indicators, grouping results into five areas of child well-being to provide an overall assessment of how children are doing. Countries are assessed using global and national targets. The analysis provides valuable insights into both historical progress—recognizing the results delivered by countries in the recent past—and how much additional effort may be needed to achieve the child-related SDG targets. This approach provides a framework for assessing ambition as well as the scale of action needed to achieve it.