The Chronicles of a Wild Woman are published once per month between a cup of coffee and a cup of tea, a sunny day and a rainy week, the crisis and the inspiration, while I live in London, the city that is a cultural ship. Sometimes I speak from here, sometimes from the dreams, sometimes I am just impermanence. But the important thing is that I speak: what I say to the world follows the instinct that no one can silence us.
If someone asked me ten years ago what I understood for being an adult woman I would probably answer that would be paying my own bills, living independently, wanting to build a family or already having a family and stop wearing my only one dirty converse All Stars every day. I am not sure when all of these things started to happen, but from a girl, I became a woman. And suddenly I found myself doubting. Was I doing a good job in being a woman? After all, there are so many traps. Some demand a perfect body, others elude me with the idea that I have to be a good girl, that I have to expect prince charming, that I have to live a life full of restrictions. Have you ever felt them? They can also fool yourself with a toxic love or silence the voice that pulses inside your chest. Then they tell you that you don’t deserve wonderfulness and that you do not have to establish healthy boundaries with the world. They usually tell you that you are just another person – no one special – that your dreams are irrational, that what you are feeling doesn’t need to be taken into account – that is for crazy people – and that you have to put up with the morbid normality that is all around.
I intellectually understood that the model I had for what meant to be a woman came from a culture that silenced our opinion for centuries, but my experiences made me come back to the same old place. What did I need to do in order to free myself from these traps that moved inside my head as an Ouroboros? What did it really mean to be a complete woman?
In one of the time fractures, I smelled something that made me remember what I have once forgotten. It was clear that I needed to unveil a type of wisdom that is no secret – it is just lost. A wisdom that I couldn’t find inside the university. A wisdom that isn’t logic, nevertheless that isn’t incomprehensible. A wisdom that manifests itself in painting, poetry, nature, through the sun that touches your fingers while you have breakfast, through the love you feel for someone that calms your mind and makes you want to love the world, through the courage of a lion that makes you roar for your needs, through the meaningful conversation you have with an older person or a younger one. A wisdom that not only women can access, but also men. A wisdom that crosses economic classes and continents. Looking for this wisdom I found an ecosystem of books, people and teachings that illuminated me some clues. However, I also found something that I was actually ashamed of. Something that had been occult because it had been domesticated for centuries. Something that I unconsciously hid from myself and others. I found something wild running into my veins.
These chronicles emerged as a way of expressing this journey of discovery. Above all, as a way to share reflections about how we can make the wild blood stronger, because there is no use in just finding it, the wild nature needs to be nurtured, cared, loved, protected, clarified and some times tamed. From my life experiences, intuitive wisdoms rise and the writing helps to organise them. I aim to strengthen a narrative that illuminates a part of being human that doesn’t allow truth. Doesn’t allow wonder. That for, some stories need to be told and some need to be lived. These are the Chronicles of a Wild Woman, words that follow instinct.