The Beginning

I was born.

Smashing start to an autobiography.

When and where, it doesn’t matter too much. Not for what I intend to write here. It was sufficiently long ago to allow me to acquire a certain perspective. Yet, recently enough to fuel my belief that magnificent things can still happen.

The place, that’s another matter. I will say only this: most of what I am is because of that place; most of what I am not and probably never will be is also because of that place. It is a love-hate relationship of which I don’t really care to talk. It’s a wound that is best forgotten, if I am to try to do now all that I was too afraid, too shy, and too stupid to do in the past.

Apart from this, I’ve had a very loving and caring family. Somewhat overbearing and overly protective. I’ve always felt very safe. Sometimes, I’ve also felt suffocated. Yet, I don’t blame anything on anyone. I love them all beyond measure. All of this, if anything, is my doing.

(One needs to be bloody arrogant to post one’s thoughts on the Internet and expect other people will be interested in reading them.
That, and bloody desperate.
Also, an exhibitionist. If all you wanted were to keep a diary, you could do it privately, on your own computer. Why bare your soul in front of strangers?…)

Most of my dreams come from the “art of illusion.” That is, literature and cinema. There is nothing that feels closer to my soul, nothing that brings me more happiness than the feats of imagination.
Thus, before I got around to live any real life, I had already lived many imaginary lives. All very romantic and highly adventurous. What can real life do but pale in comparison with that?

I am an Aries.
I can carry my own suitcases and open my own doors, but I can’t breathe without romance. I need my knight in shining armour, my hero to yearn for in my heart and mind.
I live for the written and the moving illusions.
I am a perfectionist; that’s why it is taking me so long to write anything – I have to polish it to perfection, and then I have to polish it a bit more.
Summer swirls me with a weird feeling of end of time, of open spaces where there blows a wind of unexplained melancholy.
I deeply dislike wasting time, and broken promises, and gossip, and double standards, and people who are untrue.
I have the sea in my heart. I was probably a mermaid in another life.

This blog is about me, about my tangle of thoughts, my obsession with writing and time...