Lyrics

I have a dream
You have a dream
We have a dream that one day

I have a dream
You have a dream
We have a dream that one day

I will guide you my friend

I look at you once again
Lost in the shadows of your past
Thinking about

About the things that you’ve lived
About the lies that you’ve believed
In your whole life

Look at the stars
They shine in the dark
So take their light

Don’t be afraid
Just change your hands
For wings and fly

You’re waiting for a miracle
Miracle

Or could be just another chance
Another chance

You’re waiting for a Lord
Places never seen before

Where the angels could be faster
Than the speed of your pain

You call for me and hold me tight
I gonna be by your side
Together in other lives

Open your eyes don’t be afraid
I gonna warm your cold days
Lighting your darkened nights

Look at the stars
They shine in the dark
Let’s take their lights

Don’t be afraid
Just give me your hand
I am your Angel Divine

You’re waiting for a miracle
Miracle

Or could be just another chance
Another chance

You’re waiting for a Lord
Places never seen before

Where the angels can be faster
Than the speed of your pain

You’re waiting for a miracle
Miracle

Or could be just another chance
Another chance

Oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh

I have a dream
You have a dream
We have a dream that one day

The Secret and Inspiration

I met Eduardo when I still believed that love needed to work out to be real. We were just over twenty years old and had an intensity that would scare any adult nearby. He was the guitarist in an alternative rock band that rehearsed in a stuffy basement in the West Zone of São Paulo. I wasn't a drummer back then, but I already felt that music was calling me by name.

Our love was immediate. There was no slow conquest, no games. There was recognition.

I remember the first time I hugged him. I didn't feel anything new—I felt a memory. As if that touch wasn't starting there, but continuing something that already existed. We looked at each other and laughed for no reason. Sometimes we were silent, just feeling each other's presence, and that was enough.

The dreams started early.

I dreamed that we were walking through a golden desert, hand in hand, in silence. The next day, he would call me saying he had dreamed about me in a place without buildings, without streets, just sky and sand. It wasn't a coincidence. It happened more than once. Identical dreams. Same feelings. We woke up with the same phrase in our heads.

I was sure we were more than just a young couple in love. There was something there that defied logic.

Eduardo loved me, of that I never doubted. But he was too young for the depth of our feelings. He wanted to experience the world, play at festivals, meet people, live without promises that would bind him. I was more mature. I had already experienced other disappointments. I knew how to recognize when something was rare.

When he said he needed to go, I didn't fight.

It hurt, but it wasn't despair. It was as if my soul was saying: trust.

We never fought. We never hurt each other with words. We simply accepted that, at that time, our paths needed to separate. We remained friends. We talked about music, about life, about dreams—literally dreams—that still insisted on connecting us.

Years later, I became the drummer for an all-female alternative rock band. We played in bars on Augusta Street, packed houses in Barra Funda, and independent festivals scattered throughout the city. The drums became my form of prayer. Each beat was an affirmation of existence.

Until fate, with its silent irony, decided to act.

We were invited to a collaborative musical project. Several musicians from the alternative scene would come together to form a temporary band. When I entered the rehearsal room and saw Eduardo with his guitar slung over his shoulder, I felt the same recognition as years before.

There was no awkwardness.

There was peace.

We played together for a whole year. Long rehearsals, intense performances, short trips to the countryside. On stage, something inexplicable happened. I felt time slow down. Our eyes met between solos, and it was as if we were conversing without words.

There was never any hidden interest. No attempt to recapture the past. It was purer than that.

It was as if we had understood that love doesn't need possession to exist.

One night, playing in a small bar in Vila Madalena, I felt something I've never been able to fully translate. The lights were low, the smoke from the machine created a soft veil over the audience, and when I started keeping time with the slowest song in the set, I had the feeling that we weren't alone on stage.

It wasn't fear. It was presence.

As if ancient energies enveloped us. As if versions of ourselves, from other times and other worlds, were also there, playing with us. Eduardo closed his eyes during the solo. I felt tears streaming down my face as I played the drums. At that moment, I understood.

Some souls don't come to stay together in the way we imagine. They come to remind us of who we are. They come as guides, as mirrors, as angels disguised as ordinary people.

Eduardo was my miracle—not because he stayed, but because he awakened in me the awareness of something greater.

For years I waited for our love to return in the traditional way, for destiny to reunite us as a couple. But I understood that perhaps the miracle wasn't the return.

Perhaps it was the chance to live that connection without fear, without possession, without expectation.

He taught me that light doesn't eliminate darkness—it shines within it.

Today, when I look at the polluted sky of São Paulo and can still see some persistent stars, I remember our shared dreams. I remember the silent certainty that there are dimensions that don't fit on human maps.

Some connections transcend lifetimes.

Some encounters aren't about beginnings or ends.

They're about recognition.

And I know, with a peace that needs no explanation, that on some plane beyond what we can see, we continue walking side by side.

Because certain bonds don't belong to time.

They belong to eternity.

Mexico - 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.