This week, I allow myself the luxury of not making decisions—though perhaps that, in itself, is already a decision.
Since I was a child, I’ve been afraid of the passage of time.
I’m afraid of losing everything. What is everything? Love, ending up on the street.
As a child, I also had an irrational fear of death.
Sometimes I think they’re memories from another life, another existence. Maybe I’m still afraid of death, even if I try to convince myself I’m not. I try to understand death in order to overcome that fear. I like cemeteries because I find peace there. In cemeteries, I can also speak with my ancestors—no matter the cemetery, they are all there, because we are all one.
There is beauty in decay. Pride in having made it this far, against all odds.
Ambivalence.
There’s a part of me letting go of who I used to be. I’m facing the parts I didn’t like, a self who lived in submission, afraid of disappointing others. Afraid of not being loved, afraid of ending up alone. Maybe that fear turned me into someone I’m not. I’m taking off the costume that isn’t mine and, without fear, I want to wear the one I choose.
The ephemerality of life.
You wake up in the morning with a whole day ahead of you (like a blank canvas). And before you know it, it’s night again. And so the days go by, the weeks, the months, the years, the decades—and life slips away without us even noticing.
It’s not a complaint, nor do I feel like I’m wasting my life. I just wish time moved a little slower.
Maybe that’s why I take photos—it’s my way of trying to stop time, of trying to pause life.
And this leads me to wonder: Am I afraid of disappearing? No. I believe in reincarnation, I believe in what they call “between lives”. I know that someday we will meet again, and I know I’ll be safe.
Maybe that’s why I like going to the cemetery—I try to talk to them, to seek answers.
Passion, drama, baroque. There’s a part of me that adores all of it. Those vivid colors, those twisted bodies caught in impossible contortions. The white marble, the exaggerated dimensions.
Taking it all in overwhelms the senses. There’s a part of me that is like that. I used to show that part of myself. Then I stopped. Now it’s coming back—and I like it. Today I went out for a run, and while I was waiting at a traffic light, I started dancing. And I didn’t care if people looked at me or what they thought. My headphones helped me break through that fear. Like an ostrich.