Why we sing
There were over a hundred and fifty of us. It blows my mind when I see that, and there’s always a moment during concerts when I turn around. Just to look. A hundred and fifty people, all equally volunteer, choosing to give their voices, and their hearts, and believing it was worth it. (…)
Willy
Friday, half past eight, Plaza de la Catedral. It is drizzling. The square is deserted; now and then, the footsteps of a passer-by echo in the night, then disappear like a mirage. Little by little, some shadows glide across the cobblestones, and beneath the remains of the Roman wall (…)
The Cottolengo
Patients, sisters and volunteers live together day by day, then and I believe that the word that best describes this historic institution is joie de vivre. Even though the work is hard (…)
A year later
Right now, beautiful. At peace. An hour ago I was getting off the subway and, sweating, I was meditating on the word "overwhelmed." I find it hard not to let myself go lately. Tonight, I lied to everyone. (…)
The blue balloon (the story)
It’s hard to be small because people get mean. ‘You see, son’, said a father to his boy the other day, as the three of us were waiting for the lift. ‘Work hard at school, otherwise you'll end up like her.’ Oscar Wilde said (…)
‘Historias del gas’
This morning, as I started on the rooftops, I didn't have anything to write with, and it was really itching me. So I started ringing doorbells, and in barely an hour, I had already collected a nice haul (…)
La chica del gas
Barcelona isn't what I imagined. Crowded, noisy, and relentless. No matter what, it never takes a break. Going out in the morning during rush hour feels like being swallowed by the beast. (…)
The aftermath
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 (…)