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Erasing myself, erasing my desires. Waiting for my mother to return, waiting for her to love me unconditionally, to protect me, waiting. I am still waiting. Why did it take me so long to understand? My sons put me into this scenario. Coming and going from this scene ceaselessly, unable to stop. Thus the exhaustion. Thus the anger.


This is a story where two times converge, and I go back and forth between them, ceaselessly.


Sleep, anxiety, fear, depression, rage, everything brings me to something that seems terribly urgent for me to discover. I need all of my energy to leave that scene still enveloped in darkness, return to the present. There is something in my body that won’t let me ignore it, as if it were screaming and I have to listen. There doesn’t seem to be space for anything other than my photos, my sons, and this process.


For the first time, there is trust in my body, anger as a vital sentiment that leads me into the center of the story. Trying to get out of that whirlwind of confusion that I learned to create in order to not feel the pain. To be able to breathe. As if my body had awakened and was summoning me over and over again into that tunnel, one that I venture into very slowly, one that leads back to my childhood.


I began Kinderwunsch thinking that it was about the desire to have children. After six years, I realize that it has been the process of gaining access to my own desire. To live in the present with my sons, I have to get through that dark, painful scenario, then find my place by their side. A process in which present and past are always intertwined.


Last night, I woke up terrified. I thought I heard the voice of a girl calling: Mama, Mama. I hear the slow breathing of my sons. I want to accompany the girl, embrace her like I hold Lucio as he falls asleep, feeling how his body slowly yields. Make her feel tranquil, protected.

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