I finally started writing again. I went into my art store and grabbed a moleskin notebook. I felt I should finally honest with myself in these. So I wrote all my notes in Portuguese because I feel at my most honest in Portuguese. My grandmother spoke to me almost only in Portuguese in Rio as a child when I went to visit her. She was painfully honest with me. My moleskin book is to me, my grandma. I feel this year has been a knife pointed at my throat and if I react constantly I'm going to be killed. I am not looking for immortality but I am looking for my hidden passion so that I can make and not hold on to this rage.