The Siren´s Call*

The stale silence is broken, thanks God; she´s 10628247_704923926256392_6808269788532183080_ncalling me: my private siren* (aka That Wind singing in my ears), telling me where & when to head off, how to drive my ship and which ghosts to chase.

Sorry, dear folks: I follow no one´s steps but my own; no fashion but the intemporal manner of my Being; no life but the one I create for myself.

She called me to Spain at first; then Egypt; the whole world, more recently, with a special request – find your nest, will you? -; now she´s calling me again and all I can do is obey. Restart packing, pulling up my sleeves, opening my mind and heart yet again (and again, for sure).

In the midst of the antecipation, relative fear and doubt that also assault me on the verge of major steps, I confess the joy of hearing that familiar voice (“I truly missed you, did you know that?“).

Gipsies are like this: the need for comfort, routine and security are never quite as strong as the absolute need for freedom, growth and adventure. I´ll get bored when I´m dead, thank you very much; for now, I choose to be fully ALIVE*

If the Siren called me to Kualalampur or the planet Mars, you would find me there. I´m a good girl where my beloved siren is concerned. She´s calling me elsewhere and I´ll follow it, as a slave to my own freedom (the only slavery I could ever embrace).


The wind always brings us back to the same wall.” (Does it?)

Joanne Harris, Chocolat

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