Finding My Way Back to Words
A personal note on writing, belonging, and finding my voice
Childhood in Sardinia, Italy (1)
Childhood in Sardinia, Italy (2)
Childhood in Sardinia, Italy (3)
Childhood in Sardinia, Italy (4)
January 2026
When I see a photo of myself as a child,
I want to make the young me proud.
I want to make the young me proud.
As a child, I loved writing and making plans for the future, imagining it as something happy and full. I think of the girl who enjoyed writing in primary school; of the teenager who was saved by literature, drawn to characters who were rebellious and different; of the years when trendy writing exercises on YouTube slowly drained my desire to write; and of who I am now, rediscovering words and finding my way back to the house of language I built long ago.
Growing up with a parent whose background was different from that of most people around me taught me early on how powerful language can be. Like many biracial people born in predominantly white countries, I learned that belonging often feels like something you must constantly prove. Small things like speaking “correctly,” choosing the right words, can turn into an obsession.
Over time, that obsession became something close to a wound. I carried it with me for years, and I felt it again when I had to learn how to express myself in another language after leaving my birth country, Italy, and moving abroad. Yet something beautiful came from it: a renewed, deep love for writing.
The blank page has always felt like a safe place. It is a form of rest, where I find clarity and comfort.
These lines mark the beginning of my project: not a rigid path, but an open diary waiting to be filled. A space for personal reflections, ideas, research, and critical thoughts.
I hope that those who read this will spend a meaningful moment here, feel moved and entertained, or discover something new. And if a thought or a question arises, I hope they will share it with me.