Do you believe in destiny?
Do you think that everything we do, we do it for a reason?

A lot of people would say no. I would say no too, from a rational point of view.
Still, sometimes we take choices, or key episodes happen to us, that make us take a certain path in our lives, a path that we didn’t explore before.

I think I had one of these “key episodes” when I understood I was a writer. You might say “yeah, whatever, deep down you always wanted to be a writer, you knew it, so the key episode is a key episode just from your point of view; it could have been anything.”. That’s because you don’t know about the key episode. And even so, this wouldn’t explain the fact that I don’t know what to write about.

Still, I am waiting for a major source of inspiration. It doesn’t happen to me all the time, to feel like writing. Sometimes, if I am in a good mood, or let’s say if I don’t have worries or thoughts that obscure my mind, I can see that things, even the simplest, are a source of inspiration. It often happens on the bus, at the end of a working day, when I am getting back home. There, maybe I am not so worried anymore (the working day is over and the rest of day is my oyster), and I see the world from another point of view.
Sometimes I think I could write a whole book about riding on a bus.

But how to seek inspiration? How to overcome that feeling of emptiness when we are in front of a white page? And, most important: why destiny? How can we understand what is relevant in what happens to us? How can we understand that something is not important, even though our mind tells us the contrary? How can we assume an objective point of view and take advantage of the signs we encounter without any kind of influence (not even our own)?

I do not have answers. I don’t know what I am supposed to do. And you?

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Starry sky, moral law

I have been writing since…I don’t remember since when.

As a child, I wanted to be: a nun, a doctor, a veterinary, a dancer, an astronaut (not in this order). Then I realized that: I wanted to have a boyfriend, I am too scared of blood, I could never kill an animal or being responsible of killing one, I was too fat to be a professional dancer (and I naively had no idea I could do something about it), and I wasn’t enough cold-blooded to be an astronaut.

It didn’t even occur to me the fact that I could have become a writer. But still, I kept on writing. Then I met a poet, a real one, who told me my poems were shit. I never wanted to become a poet; still, I lost quite a lot of self confidence in my writing abilities after that encounter. Then, quite late (I was 22 – yes, I am older now, you curious reader), I had the most massive crush of my life (till then). That means that I suffered a lot. To overcome my pain, I wrote it. Every single tear was accurately analysed and transcribed in (what I like to think was) a beautiful series of words.

My feelings became pages, the pages became a book. I sent it to some major editors. The few answers I received were negative. I thought it wasn’t my destiny. It didn’t even occur to me that my book, an hysterical cry of despair, was very hard to commercialize.

I didn’t write for three years after that (which means, I am older than 25, you curious reader). Then, a day, while voluntarily lobotomising my brain in front of the TV (which I normally NEVER watch, you curious reader), I saw something that made me change my mind. I understood that writing was my destiny.

The most challenging thing for me when writing is thinking about all the people that write and never become writers. Maybe writing is not their destiny, maybe they overestimate themselves. So could I. Frankly, it doesn’t matter to me. Nobody should give up on something before having tried it first, at least. So here I am.

The starry sky above me, and the moral law within me are the two things that impress me the most. I totally admire Kant for having said that. But to me, the starry sky and the moral law mean also that there are two worlds we have to deal with every day, our interior world and the external world. Both can be perceived in an infinite number of ways. And very often, they don’t match. When this happens, I always wonder. Is this wonder I want to talk about, and if you would like to read it, you are welcome to do so.

If not, it will not matter. I write for myself, because for me there is no other way.

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