I write about what helps us understand who we are. About the emotions that pass through us, the questions that surface when something moves us, the fears we learn to face head-on, and those parts of ourselves that we only manage to recognize when life sets us before a mirror. I believe that growing up is not about becoming someone else, but about learning to look at ourselves with enough honesty to understand what we are and what we might still become.
Human bonds are one of those mirrors. Love, friendship, desire, loss, intimacy, the encounters and the silences we learn to read have the power to show us parts of ourselves that would hardly appear in solitude. They confront us with our wounds, our limits, our ways of caring and of protecting ourselves; but also with our capacity to be vulnerable, to listen, to change, and to build. That is why I care about meeting others: not only for what we receive from them, but for what we discover about ourselves when our lives cross paths.
Nature is another of those places where I learn to look. In it I find a different way of understanding time, which is sometimes a light that lasts only a few seconds, and also stillness, fragility, and belonging. It reminds me that we are not the center of everything that exists. That is why photography and writing end up meeting in my life: to photograph is to learn to hold one's gaze upon the world; to write is to try to understand what happens inside us when that world manages to touch us. A photograph keeps an instant of what we saw; a poem tries to keep what that instant awakened in us.
That is why I write. Not to find definitive answers, but to ask better questions. To understand what I feel, what I live, what I love, what I fear, and what I still cannot name.
Because perhaps that is what it means to live: learning, again and again, to look at the world and at ourselves with a little more truth.
