The Wall Street Journal, one of the main economic newspapers in the United States, has had a monthly column reserved for three years to talk about retirement. The section Retirement rookies (which could be translated as Retirement for beginners) is written by two people. It is signed by Stephen Kreider Yoder, one of the former editors of the newspaper, and his wife, Karen Kreider Yoder, both retired from professional activity and motivated to reflect on this new stage of life. The couple, who have not yet reached seventy years of age, live in San Francisco and are presumed to have a privileged and quiet retirement. They address everything from the most typical dilemmas such as the opportunity to travel, move to a quieter town or buy a motorhome, to some fears such as health, widowhood or staying in good shape. They delve into psychological and emotional aspects related to personal identity when you stop working. They also deal with economic issues, such as the anxiety of running short of savings, the need to reduce expenses or the consequences of inflation for retirees. However, from the first columns they wrote, a recurring concern of the Kreider Yoders about time management becomes evident and, above all, a certain demand to invest it wisely. In these three years, they have insisted on the complexity of finding a balance between doing a lot of activities and learning to disconnect, changing old routines for new ones, making lists of realistic plans without getting stressed or correctly distributing attention to the rest of the family. Time is a background headache that always appears.

The heat falls on the village from the early hours of the morning. Isolated in the heart of the tropical rainforest, this Amazonian settlement follows the rhythms imposed by the river and the land. Along the Uraricoera, a tributary of the Negro River, some children play and cool off in the water. A little further on, several young people return from the bank with a canoe loaded with bundles of cassava: the tuber that sustains Yanomami life. The harvest passes from hand to hand until it reaches the homes, where the mothers wash, grate, and transform it into flour, repeating gestures passed down from generation to generation, as old as the river itself.

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A space crew must have diverse professional profiles. "In future long-duration missions, not only engineers and technicians will be needed, but also culture, humanities, and communication," remarks Jennifer García Carrizo, a science communicator at Rey Juan Carlos University. She herself is proof: in February 2025, she participated as a journalist in the Hypatia II mission, which – with an all-female crew – simulated the conditions of Mars in the Utah desert. It was "twelve suns," in practice fifteen days, of an intense mission that she now recounts in the book Mission Mars.

A fascinating fact about the functioning of trends is that, no matter how many experts and agencies are dedicated to predicting them, they always retain a component of unpredictability. It would be like the flight of starlings, which we can observe how they move, but we will never know who decides their turn, direction, or the moment they stop. And it is that fashion, far from being the sum of individual decisions, responds to dynamics inscribed in a complex social fabric. This is why, while big brands invest time, money, and entire teams to produce the it-bag of the season, suddenly a completely unremarkable one appears that, incomprehensibly, concentrates all the desire: the tote bag from Trader Joe's supermarket.On the one hand, we could believe that ostentatious aspirations of social climbing have been set aside in favor of a certain democratic practicality. But this consolation lasts little: why hasn't the same happened with the Bon Preu (Esclat) or Condis supermarket bag? It is in this mismatch that it becomes evident that distinction has not disappeared, but rather has become sophisticated. It no longer operates solely through price or ostentation, but through subtle codes, where the value of an object depends as much on cultural context as on its material cost.

Almost five centuries after the arrival of the first European conquerors in the Amazon, the indigenous peoples of Brazil continue to defend the same thing: land and freedom. Since 1542, when the expedition led by Francisco de Orellana reached the great river, nearly 484 years of sustained resistance have passed. Now, this struggle is moving to Brasília. Hundreds of indigenous representatives are settling in the country's political center in a protest camp to halt legislative changes that could allow extractive activities and energy projects within protected territories. The mobilization combines political pressure with cultural expression, turning the institutional space into a stage for collective demand. Despite some recent advances in territorial recognition and environmental protection under the government of Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, hundreds of communities are still awaiting legal guarantees for their lands. In parallel, the pressure from illegal mining and logging in indigenous territories is growing. The Free Land Camp in the Brazilian capital is not an isolated episode, but the continuation of a nearly 500-year history of persistent defense of their ancestral rights and their way of life.

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In the magnificent novel Instructions for living without her, by Empar Moliner, the narrator explaining Claudia Pruna's story contrasts her husband's low energy with Pruna's productivity: “Perhaps this is the real difference between men and women. Women, past fifty, want to do a lot of things. They have energy, they laugh, they wet themselves laughing. Men lose it all and some never laugh again. It's like a transfer.”

Dear Regi, I should be angry, envious, and resentful of you for many reasons. Your book Les calces al sol (La campana) and my Un cor de neu (La Magrana) were released together in September 2022, and yours, slowly but surely, succeeded, and mine, well, it didn't. And this is despite yours being the first book you published, not like me who has published a few. On top of that, you're quite a bit younger than me. And a good person. And talented and wonderful and hardworking and persistent. And stylish! According to the manual for a good follower of the patriarchal cliché, I should choke every time I read something about you. But the opposite happens to me.

In the heart of Es Grau, north of Maó, there are narrow streets, terraced houses, and architecture often born out of necessity and common sense. It is an urban landscape partly born from self-construction, where local materials and simple solutions have gradually shaped a unique identity. In this context, Menorcan architect Emma Martí has designed a new 256-square-meter home that fits into the existing fabric with both naturalness and singularity.

Her hair really catches the eye. She herself admits that she feels observed wherever she goes and that she is tired of being stopped in the street to be asked if they can touch her hair or if they simply touch it without her permission. Isabel Balde, 32, has beautiful afro hair. The kind that's a huge ball of curls. "People are not aware that touching someone's hair is invading personal space," she says, as her hairdresser styles it and she looks proudly in the mirror. It wasn't always like this. She used to hate her hair.

On March 15, 2004, the annual induction ceremony for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was held at the Waldorf Astoria in New York. The date was used to pay tribute to George Harrison, who had died a few years earlier, and the event concluded with a performance of While my guitar gently weeps by Tom Petty, Jeff Lynne, Steve Winwood, and Dhani Harrison, the ex-Beatle's son, and Prince, who was also being inducted as an artist into the academy and would join them on guitar. As Joel Gallen, the gala's director, explained years later to The New York Times, during the morning rehearsals, Prince remained on the sidelines, playing basic chords, following the tone. Although they encouraged him to shine, he stayed in the shadows, in a corner of the stage, without standing out. No one expected what happened hours later. The performance went smoothly until the song was nearing its end, and then Prince delivered one of the most iconic guitar improvisation solos in the history of popular music. It's three minutes of virtuosity, genius, and rhythm. And passion, dedication, and enthusiasm. The astonished faces of his fellow musicians on stage speak for themselves. Finally, the show ended, Prince threw his instrument in the air and walked off stage.

Zara has done it again. Without any shame or embarrassment, it has strolled through the supermarket of social struggles, underground cultures, and symbolic identities with its cart wide open: a bit of marginality to give it pedigree, some uncomfortable figure of those who were a nuisance in life, and, above all, a good dose of rebellion. That's right: all nicely domesticated. Everything, passed through the quick boil of fast fashion, shrink-wrapped and ready to be consumed in the form of a prefabricated identity. And this time, who got to enter the shredder of turbocapitalism? Camarón de la Isla.And this in the full Camarón year, coinciding with the 75th anniversary of the birth of the iconic cantaor, a figure who was not only an exceptional voice of flamenco, but also one of its great renovators. From La leyenda del tiempo, he opened the genre to new sounds and sensibilities, and moved it from an almost fossilized space to a living territory in tension with the present. But, furthermore, he contributed to overflowing the social image of gypsy culture beyond the cliché to which it had been subjected during Francoism, trapped between folklorism and marginality. Together with key figures like Paco de Lucía, he broadened the imaginaries around gypsy identity, both from within and in its public projection.

Humanity returns to the Moon 50 years later. NASA's Artemis program, which made history this April by breaking the record for the furthest manned space voyage, responds to an openly declared objective by Donald Trump himself: “Get to the Moon before China”.

An omnipresent element in Rosalía's concert is a large white canvas that serves as the backdrop for the stage, as if it were stretched over a wooden frame. It is the reverse of an immense cloth, as if you were seeing the back of an imposing painting. With a Palau Sant Jordi still with its lights on and the audience filling the stands in a hurry, the back of this canvas patiently awaits the start of the show until, when everything goes dark, it opens in half, as if we were entering the interior of the work of art. It is a way of telling us that what we are seeing is not just a musical performance, but also an artistic process that will unfold before us. It is much more than a concert, it is a total work of art, in motion, full of life, of references, and in constant evolution and transformation. Rosalía is the artist who completes her work during the two hours of the show.

“Salvador Espriu Castelló, writer, single, sixty years old, a native of Santa Coloma de Farners [...]. He declares that he in no way wishes to be buried in the cemetery of Arenys de Mar. He further declares his express wish that his body be cremated, if the laws permit”. These are verbatim words, handwritten by Salvador Espriu in what is a document of last wishes, a draft of a will, written at some point between the summer of 1973 and that of 1974 – he was born on July 10, 1913 –, drafted in Spanish – the law did not provide for any other option – and addressed to his great friend and lawyer Josep Ferrer i Rius.

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A conversation with Professor Joan Alberich (Reus, 1944) is an endless outpouring of knowledge and curiosities. He is a professor of secondary school Greek, a university professor, a member of the Bernat Metge Foundation, and a translator of various works in Greek, from Homer to Marcus Aurelius – he currently has one of Pausanias' travel books in hand. We talk about languages and civilizations and jump through the centuries following the trail of Greek on the occasion of the publication of the second revised edition of the Greek-Catalan Dictionary from Enciclopèdia Catalana, a fundamental pillar of Western culture in our language, which Alberich and Francesc J. Cuartero have directed and co-written, with several authors.

On Sant Jordi's Day, it is traditional to give roses, a flower that was already appreciated in antiquity for its symbolic values. Its cultivation is lost in classical cultures, it seems it already existed in Mesopotamia, and both Greeks and Romans were very fond of it. In addition to its ornamental function, this plant was highly valued for its curative and aromatic properties, and was used in perfumery. In Rome, the rosetum was a type of garden formed almost exclusively by rose bushes. And every May they celebrated the Rosalia, a festival in which roses were brought to the graves of the deceased. In Latin culture, the red rose had a special consideration, it was linked to amorous passion and lovers thanks to its relationship with the goddess Venus. Therefore, we could say that giving red roses is a custom of Roman origin.

A list like the one from the survey on Catalan cinema among 200 experts, promoted by ARA, is not only useful for awarding or removing medals from films or directors, but also for studying and analyzing the image left by the votes. If we take the 25 most voted films as a representative sample, a first conclusion is that this canon of Catalan cinema is moving towards parity. There are nine films directed by women in the top 25 of the list, that is, 36%; but if we focus only on the films on this list produced in the last fifteen years, which are those of the great arrival of women in cinema, the percentage of female directors rises to 50%. It is worth noting that among the five most voted films there is only one directed by a woman, and among the ten most voted only three, but this imbalance at the top of the list is compensated, in part, by the significant first position ofEstiu 1993, directed by Carla Simón.