When I was a child, I wanted to be a citizen of the world: to have a home somewhere and travel endlessly.
But sometimes you’re forced to travel only with your mind, just to escape a place where you wouldn’t let even your goldfish live.
So I wandered through Kafka’s castle, hid behind Pirandello’s masks, and inside The Late Mattia Pascal, who died only to rise again as someone new.
Later, I ran away for real, though I still wasn’t completely free: responsibilities weighed heavily on my shoulders.
And yet the small towns I passed through felt like entire continents I had never seen.
Meanwhile the years kept moving: 1, 2, 5, 6, 11… before I was finally free to reach my sea. My sea and also my work.
And in this sea I move so naturally that people often ask why I never took the opportunities that had been offered to me so many times.
Because opportunities arrive when you’re ready to welcome change.
Without fear.
I’m not sure if I’ve become a citizen of the world, but I know the world has found its way to me, bringing its languages and cultures along.
Today, in this room, there were Egypt, Turkey, and Morocco.
Before that, Bangladesh, Thailand, and USA.
And each of them left something in me.
And the travels?
Those came too. Not as many as I once dreamed of, but there’s time.
They arrived in the measure I was able to receive them:
six flights in five months, three star‑filled skies in three different countries, people from all over the world, and me dancing under the moon along the river that was watching my life unfold.
Because sometimes, almost always, things reveal themselves in ways you never expected.
