On February 7th I turned 32. I like the number, as much as I like 2023, even if too many things have happened in just a couple of months. I closed 2022 full of hopes, romanticism, expectations, dreams, goals and relief. Yes, relief, cause after years, we all fell the same discomfort caused by Covid, we all suffer from loneliness, we all feel lost and misunderstood. Don't we? I've started therapy and it actually went bad. I felt I was finally doing something to recover from my past traumas and to deconstruct my mental schemes, but no. I'm not in charge, I have to follow. And I don't like the rhytm, the choreo, even the base. I'm not going to continue, I guess this wasn't the right shot. Talking about my parents or involving them wasn't in my plans. I need this for me. I deserve to heal. I cannot accept to do something to them, for them. "Your only job is to fill your cup and make yourself whole". How I'm filling my cup? I'm travelling, an
Se hai la fortuna di essere diversa, non cambiare mai. (K.D.)