Varanasi train station | 5.00 am
The end of a journey with a backpack and my heart on my shoulders turns out to be the true beginning I had been looking for amid crowds, trains, markets, and deep gazes.
The matchbox in his hands, open and empty, in front of the last platform in northern India revealed the beginning of a story that—even after years—I keep thinking about and rewriting.
Still trying to find an answer to a question I have already forgot.
Through a corridor of hands, gazes, and emotions you cannot walk out of the same way you walked in.
You can choose to turn back or stop at any moment.
You can choose to turn back or stop at any moment.
That won’t change the fact that something happened in there.
A chaotic world— not fast, but fluid in its own way, not hard to reach if you let yourself be carried by its current and accept forgetting who and how you used to be. Once inside another world, accept its new rules and try to live by them.
What we so often look for is simplicity, as close as it is hidden.
A chaos very different from ours, yet not impossible to understand, it almost became easier to observe myself, to sense myself, to listen to myself.
It is extremely difficult, then, to process it all and return to that wavelength once you’re back outside.
What was given to me while I was there was, in part, held within me afterwards.
The doors that open are unexpected.
In the search for a story that is never the one you imagine, and until what you think is the ending, you never reach the closing of a circle.
The shape keeps expanding, offering no answers—only ever more doors.
In the end, there is only the simple lightness of the present—nothing more.
Fearlessly, they dare and cross every threshold; they follow you and watch you, curious and drawn in.
Learn to let yourself be taken and changed.
