"I write this letter to you, but my purpose is selfish, because while writing this letter maybe I can receive an answer from inside me.
I followed almost everything you asked me , with or without my will, somehow blindly, because I don't which is the final destination.
For some years, you guide me to go back to my childhood. I try almost every night before sleep, to remember or to receive a sign. Why you send me back there? I don't remember much and I don't know how will change me what I will find out.
I discovered lately music and I would like to discover my voice. I know once I had a voice and I lost it somehow. Where? I don't know."
When I wrote this letter, I must have been drunk, because I don't remember to whom I addressed it. To God? He is the only one who could guide me. To my mentor? Unlikely, because does not know about my childhood. And the others, do not talk too much with me.
Instead, I remember I try to find every night an answer from my childhood. What I search there? Why?I do not know. Inside me I know I have to find out. There is a way to turn back in time, and I must find it.
I was such a scared child, with no dreams , but who experimented things. I strove to live among humans but was so much difficult. I was afraid of them, I was afraid of their aggressive behaviour. I was an atypical child and everybody told this. But now, nobody remembers. Just me. Now I am a total typical, boring adult. I lost my uniqueness, because I couldn't adapt in the society. I still can't adapt, but I fake it. If not, I suffer because people are so cruel with people who are different.
I learnt so many , back then, alone . It was only me in the room, and plenty of books. My library was poor, but was all I had. And I had plenty of time. Too much time, alone. My imagination went crazy. I finished to read all the books. And I was only 4. Why did I learnt alone to read? Because I was bored. So much bored that I had to invent stories, to play alone and to do something. So I learnt to read, to speak English and Italian and to write. And I was only 4 years old and nobody knew or cared at the beginning.
And was so weird to me, I didn't understand why we pronounce and write differently some words. It made no sense for me. But finally I learnt and at 5 years old I read newspapers in my mom's office.
And people were impressed by me, and I didn't understand why. They all could read , even better than me. And they made such difference because I was a child. Now I understand , but back then, I couldn't understand why they treated me like a child. I felt like an old person.
And I wanted to give advices to people, but they laughed at me, so I stopped talking. I felt it was better to not say what I think. They always mocked me. So I lost my confidence in myself.
But I didn't suffer because of this, I suffered because I had so much time and so few things to do. I couldn't explore. That was my suffering. I had so many obstacles and the whole house and world at my discretion. The adults scared me a lot: if you do this , it will happen this to you: you could die, somebody will rob you, etc.
Too many obstacles in the world, but I was alone and I had to do something while respecting the rules of adults. I feared the adults and I respected and listened them. So I got myself in the world of imagination and books. At 8 years old I was reading Shakespeare, and I loved it. I couldn't understand the love he presented there but I felt good while reading. Now when I read Shakespeare I feel deep sad inside me, but at 8 years old I didn't feel this, I felt joy. I felt it because I didn't know how the world is, and I thought people are not bad and people do not suffer and this is only the writer's imagination.
I also felt sometimes the need to talk with people, but they would not talk with me. The children were attacking each other and they had a weird behaviour, they were breaking all the society rules. They broke plates, made stupid things, and made their parents unhappy. I didn't want this, to make somebody sad. So I respected all the rules, and made never a stupid thing. I was behaving like an adult. So I wanted to talk with adults,but they would talk with me few things, they talked like with a stupid child. They didn't talk about the novels I read about the news I read. They said a child shouldn't talk about this. So it became soon reading prohibited for me and also not sleeping at late hours.
And I couldn't accept it. Was the only thing I couldn't accept. I had to read. Without this, I would rather have died. My life had no sense. And I found a solution, I found a small source of light and read by it in the night, when my parents were sleeping.
At a moment I created my own stories, while playing with dolls. And I started to write. I wrote poems, but they burned my poems because were not good enough for this world. In this world the writers starve. They can't have a job.
So I stopped writing. I believed I was not talented.
I continued reading, but I didn't have money for books so I started to borrow books and to go to the library. But most of the books I couldn't find.
When I was in primary school I continued to be weird for the others because I was shy, especially with boys. I couldn't talk easily, because I was ugly. And my biggest wish was to be beautiful to have more confidence and to be liked by boys.
This dream came true when I was in highschool, but this is another story.