Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.American Essayist, Poet and Philosopher, 1817-1862
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To travel. Even without leaving. Even without changing. To not belong. To nowhere nor no one. To not believe. To be suspicious. To have fun. A lot. And cry, and laugh and try. To not explain. Nothing. Everything. To be different among equals. To be the same among the strange. To be a contradiction.
Where to now?
Quem? Who? Qui? Chi?
- Gringa
- The foreigner, the traveller, a stranger in her own country, on her own city. Someone like so many other ones that are just trying to find themselves. By the way, if you see me anywhere around, please, let me know!
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