I've always felt strange, like someone born off the map, outside the box, as if a whole world could exist inside it. For a long time, I believed this could be fixed, that time would smooth my edges, bend me into acceptable angles. But time passed, and I remained outside. Today, I no longer want to fit in. I ask, silently, what box is this? What is right, what is wrong? Who decides where the norm begins and where the deviation ends? I feel too much. All the time. Sometimes everything at once, mixed together, an avalanche that paralyzes. And then, paradoxically, comes the anesthesia. The body here, the soul displaced. Crooked. Inappropriate for manuals. I learned to wear a normality like someone wearing a tight disguise. It works, but it suffocates. And every day I want to let it fall to the ground more. Music works like a lifeboat. It's the best way that connects me to the world. It says what I can't. It translates chaos into melody and returns me to the world without demanding explanations. Just to be... Writing too. Writing is home. It's where my fast-paced thoughts finally find passage. My mind races, my mouth stumbles. In writing I reach. My work is born from writing as a bridge between my inside and the outside of the other. It's there that I communicate completely. Maybe the grace is in not fitting in. Being different. Embracing the multiple ways of existing in the world. Even when, at times, the feeling is of feeling nothing anymore. #thoughts