Every time I get the urge to write, I find myself drowning in self-doubt, in one way or another. But I must get this down on paper, I must let the ink stain the page – perhaps just a terrible way to say that my heart has been stained. Thus I must do what I do best: let the stains taint my words on the blank page before me. But before I do that, I must make this announcement – for myself than anyone else.
I’m honestly sick of bringing myself down because I should write in Portuguese instead of English if I want to make something real out of my writing to maybe, if I get lucky enough, get something published someday. I failed the bigger picture. There is no “should” or “shouldn’t” when it comes to it, writing is natural, it’s who I am and have always been. So what if I have two mother tongues and write in both? Whatever comes to me, I write as is. Why did I make such a big fucking deal out of it all? To make myself smaller to fit in a box? And box I completely made up, at that.
So this is an announcement of sorts. I’ll be writing and posting whatever the hell I want. Stick with it or don’t. I made a self-commitment long ago that, wherever the tides take me, I’d always write for myself and not to please anybody else. So here I am, uncut, uncensored, just me. Still holding close the same wish: that by writing so intimately, someone out there will read these incredibly personal tales of my own and see themselves in it. Art can only thrive because no feeling is unique. That’s what it’s all about.
unpleasant conversations 