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The Anti-Biography

Today as in many other days that I looked and could not find myself. Who am I? I asked myself. And there was no answer.

First, I was sad. More than half of my life is already gone and I know as little as I knew at first, or maybe I know even less. From time to time, I feel my ignorance so strongly that it makes me cry. Today was one of those days.

However, the weight and joy of the responsibilities accumulated over the years did not allow me to cry for too long. Yes, it was all very clear in front of me. I did many good things, many bad things. I am aware of the mistakes I made and the dubious choices that helped to shape my destiny. But today there was not much I could do about all of this. I had to attend to my daily chores.

I spent the day between housechores and work, accepting the responsibilities and their power to rescue us from despair.

In the meantime, I read a little and continued to reflect. Whenever we think about who we are we have some criteria established by others. It has to do with what we did or did not do and how it is seen by the judges, those who determine what a successful life is, around us or within us. Generally, our biography is a story written to meet criteria and has little to do with who we really are.

When we liberate ourselves from the desire to please, others or ourselves, we simply exist. Unlimited and indefinable, we might even be able to enjoy the surprising freedom of never really knowing who we are.

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