n the dry and dusty backlands of Brazil, a humble clay house stands alone. Inside, a teenage girl lies on her bed, headphones on, lost in the sounds of her favorite K-pop group. Her small room is filled with posters of idols, a world away from her harsh surroundings.

Suddenly, her father barges in, rough and commanding.

“You better go clear the weeds,” he growls.

Annoyed and heartbroken, she gets up, grabbing the wrong tool, heading outside to “hoe the cat.” As she swings the tool, she mutters under her breath:

“Nobody loves me in this house… One day, I’m going to leave this place.”

After finishing her task, she walks back inside and collapses into bed. The next morning, something shifts inside her. She wakes up with a decision in her heart: she will go to New York.

She packs her few belongings onto a wooden cart, attaches it to an old donkey, and begins walking—days passing under the scorching sun. As she leaves, her father yells after her:

“Vai-te embora, maracaniça!”

Without turning back, she waves and shouts:

“Tchau, tchau, papai! Nunca mais irei voltar aqui!”

And for a while, that was true.

But one day, she does return. And nothing has changed.

“Go clear the weeds again,” her father barks.

Something breaks inside her. In silence, she walks away to the nearby river. There, she disappears beneath the water, ending the story that no one ever bothered to hear.