I usually tend to worry—more than I should—when it comes to packing my suitcase. That ritual every nomad must undertake when deciding to leave their homeland and start anew somewhere else. But this time, it was different. I spent more time and effort making a list of books, acquiring them, and organizing my art materials. It soothes me to think that these books will keep me company during moments of solitude and enrich my spirit. I take pleasure in organizing my travel journal: selecting a notebook filled with blank pages, choosing the brushes that will accompany me, and preparing the ochre and earth-toned pigment tablets inspired by the old tailor's chalk.
It has now been a month since I arrived here. My first assigned task was to reorganize and redesign the office. Amid boxes and memories, we found a way to reinvent the space. In the midst of the clutter, small treasures emerged. These details connected me to the stories this place holds—a tapestry of collective efforts of which I was now becoming a part. One morning, I had the opportunity to meet with local politicians to discuss the preservation of the park, intending to transform it into a cultural and natural space. This park, which once belonged to the Greek army and served as a series of barracks, had fallen into disuse. Our goal was to breathe new life into it. It was a dialogue filled with hope, which made me feel that culture can indeed be a tool for change.
On my first day at the school, I saw the garden where we would paint a mural. The walls, weathered by time, seemed to be waiting for someone to bring them back to life. The project began slowly, with sketches and trials, and this week we will finally bring the image to fruition. Last Friday, we inaugurated the intercultural event that coincided with the 25th anniversary of ESAI EN ROI.
This afternoon, as I reviewed what I planned to publish today, I found myself reflecting—gazing at the reflection of streetlights on the wet cobblestones—on how every small action, from moving a piece of furniture in the office to deciding on the artistic exercise for the week, contributes to something greater. Reflecting on the time I’ve spent here so far, I realize that self-love is like a landscape we can always return to, even when life’s seasons seem to change us. There are days when everything around me loses clarity, like a horizon shrouded in mist. But in those moments, life reminds me that caring for myself is the foundation for everything else. It’s not about changing everything all at once, but about rediscovering myself in who I already am: in every reflection, every act of kindness, in the effort of every small action, and in the ability to find beauty in the everyday. Like in the deepest relationships, self-love requires pause, patience, and sometimes simply waiting for winter to pass so that spring can bloom again.
Perhaps the most valuable lesson this month has taught me is that love for what I do, for others, and for this world is inseparable from the love I offer myself. And in this simple yet powerful truth, I discover that there is always strength to begin again, to rebuild, and to find myself once more.
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