Life is a journey.
If I describe my days,
If I fill pages with it…
It’s because I know
of no return.
First things first…
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#9 - The first session
Context. March, a Monday evening. The church, which doesn't look like a church but rather like a clandestine village hall, is empty, except for a small group of women aged between forty and sixty. There's a light on near the altar, and these people (…)
#8 - The after
Stars are born out of their own collapse. We shall remember this phrase. We’ll make a good use of it later. So it happens. One day, just like that. Either by choice, or because life has decided so. Suddenly, everything we've ever known disappears/has disappeared, the boundary isn’t clear and (…)
#7 - Hay que seguir
Sometimes I get tired of telling nice stories. Of making delicate, “sweet little drawings”. Of telling things from the perspective of resilience. You're lucky. You've been so lucky in life. I won’t deny it, but if I could, I’d throw up that sentence. Sometimes I want to scream when (…)
#6 - The memory of water
On the day of the event (i.e. the trauma), it's as if a part of the soul escapes from the body. The one that must be kept intact. The one that still smiles in childhood pictures. The event can take any form: an accident, a fateful phone call (…)
#5 - 29 Langthorne Street
Sitting at the airport, I decided that there would be no more Evas. All versions of me that had ever existed had been stolen, broken or corrupted. So I was looking for a new identity. I had time on my hands and, since I no longer existed, it seemed like the perfect moment (…)
#4 - The next day
The horror of it all was that I had prepared everything in advance. Backpack, passport, essentials. A few days later, they’d be waiting for me at the airport. At that moment, I’d imagined only two possible endings to that story: escape, or death and I had chosen both. I was leaving killing her, the Eva everybody (…)
#3 - What women talk about amongst themselves
I remember. It was this book that started it all. The paranoia, the escape, the wandering from one end of the city to the other... It was the book. (…) Out of curiosity, I opened it. I thought it wouldn't hurt to flip through it. Well I was wrong.
#2 - The wandering
It's my fault. I had established a long time ago that when things would go wrong, I’d simply cut myself off from the rest of the world. Remember when I was little? I used to call it “the extinction”. (…) But I'm scared. I think I'm stuck, Lidy. I can't get out of it. (…)
To start the story from the beginning:
“IF YOU WANT TO WRITE,
if you want to create, you must
be the most sublime fool that God
ever turned out and sent rambling.
You must write
every single day
of your life.
You must read dreadful dumb books,
and glorious books, and
let them wrestle
in beautiful fights inside your head. (…)
I wish you a wrestling match with your
creative Muse that will
last a lifetime.
(…) Which finally means:
May you be in love
every day for the next 20 000 days
and out of that love,
remake the world.
— Ray Bradbury
