I can smile now. Although this just happens once in a while.

My plan is to tell stories of far away lands, of obscure spaces, of people I don’t know and had known. At first, I wanted to tell it through different point of views, from a child, an orphan, a witch, a soldier, a friend. Unfortunately, even though I am able to form other personas through these points of view, I see myself in them even more. How can I escape from myself? Or maybe, why do I want to escape from my self?

Maybe, now I understand a little. I wanted to be someone else not me, someone daring, someone radically different from my own. Apparently, no matter how I ran away from me, I go back chasing my own shadow. No matter what point of view I take or character I make, it is always me. Thus, I am happy. I am able to run away, yet always go back with me. I am home. My home is with me. I can always be me with myself.

With this, I have come to the conclusion that in stories I may write for the most part of my life time will always start with the word I. I may not always have to be me; but at least I am being true to myself. I do not have to wear masks or concoct selves for me,; the selves already exist in I. this I am happy.

But if it’s a story, even in my head, I must be telling it to someone. You don’t tell a story only to yourself. There’s always someone else.

Even when there is no one.

A story is like a letter. Dear you, I’ll say. Just you, without a name… I will say you, you, like an old love song. You can mean more than one.

You can mean thousands…

I’ll pretend you can hear me…

I am more than me.