Chapter 2. Sofia Sal

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Chapter 2. Sofia Sal

I was looking around while caressing in the rays of the sun like a lazy and spoiled feline. I forgot to introduce myself. I am Sofia Sal, often Sof. Plain and simple. A life enthusiastic, awakened just in time to have the chance to turn around the helms and create my own reality. I love the twenty-seven-year-old warm days and I can easily state that it was worth getting here. Oscillating, during the childhood, between real and humanitarian ideas, between the art of dance and the abstract rationing of the mathematical perfection, I often jumped from the agony of the soul’s desires to the rigid and static standards of the society.

A tough high school time, burdened by so many fights between being and not being there that way, that moment. I found my refugee in dusty or shining books, in piles of literature and its criticism, blended with mathematical and chemical formulas, out of which only my gorgeous mom could drag me out, betting on the “SOS” sent by my friends.

Deep inside, I was amused by knowing that the interior fever was stronger than any other silly thought. Getting far away from my own authenticity occurred during the juvenile fights of the nineteen-year-old Sof, when deciding on the next step. After mental controversies and deceitful discussions trying to convince people around me that what I was about to study further was “good”, I was amased by the irrelevance that my own mind was using in order to lie and deny itself so that it reaches the meant-to-be state.

Although the battle against them was won, the clash with myself was still ongoing, with indignant tears and an obsessively repeated mantra “Everything will be just…”, which was being followed by a heated curse instead of a warm “fine” addressed to my own mirrored face. A masochistic curiosity made me continue and get lost in the engineering world. If I regret? Maybe a dime! I simply adore the imperfection and the well thought mistakes . How else would we be laughing in our 80s? Fine, maybe the adrenaline driven accidents could be totally erased. But let’s get over it.

Now that I have briefly walked you through what I used to be, I can present you the updated version of Sofia Sal. When I was twenty-four, in a night of May, I realised that life is, honestly, too short for dreams, that we were all warriors which had to fight for whatever they were desiring. Because desiring is GOOD.

And here I am, undressed by fears and prejudices. I have returned towards journalism with an insatiable thirst and desire for writing, building up my own magazine, a magazine of soul intrigues. To protect my body, I soared into the world of movement again. This time, a conscious movement.

Who was He? Mine, Him.

In the lavender garden, I am sipping the last drops of coffee. Adhira is calling for me to take her swimming to the rocks .

 

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