17 March 2024 was the last time I saw the ocean.

It has now been more than two years since I surfed, rode a bike, used my phone without being afraid, or slept on a real bed. It has been more than two years since I saw my dogs. That is what I miss most. They are old, and my greatest fear is that I will never see them again.

I remember the last moments before I knocked on Rui's door at the Swiss-Belresort hotel in Bali. From that moment on, my memories feel as if they belong to someone else, as if I am watching a film of my own life.

I had landed only a few hours earlier. I was supposed to collect Rui and take him to a birthday party with my friends. I knew he was not ready when he asked me to come up to his room, and I was already in a hurry.

I walked down the narrow corridor and knocked.

Those were my last moments of freedom.

The dogs I left in Portugal are no longer the ages they were when I closed the door. Junior is seventeen. Suri is around fourteen or fifteen. I am told they spend much of the day near the entrance of the house, still waiting for the return that I promised would be quick.

I try not to look at recent photographs. They make the distance too specific. It is easier to remember them running down the stairs at the beach than to study the changes in their faces and calculate how much time remains.

The surfboard I carried to Bali also remained behind. It was a 6'2" Pyzel Ghost made for hollow waves. Police left it at the villa after taking me away. During a later video testimony, I saw it standing behind a member of the villa staff, a silent object from the life the court was discussing as if it belonged to another man.

I began writing in the first week. I have filled eight or nine notebooks since then. At first I thought the pages would wait for my release. Publishing from inside felt dangerous. The people and institutions I describe still influence my conditions and my legal future.

The last appeal changed that decision. I understood that waiting to be free before telling the story could mean never telling it at all. I needed the book to become more than a record. I needed it to give me a reason to wake up, train, think and continue to have hope.

This is why the story begins at a door. On one side were the ocean, my friends and a party at Savaya. On the other were men hiding in a bathroom. I crossed the distance in a few steps.