Parents, I don't want you to be proud of me. And also, that this is my way of professing the love I feel for you. I want them to see me live ... and a lot. Let them see me dream and also fail in them. I want them to love me in my vulnerability, with my failures, accepting my humanity. I want to tell you as many times as I am sorry, that I am lost, that my emotions are confused, that I cannot handle everything. That I need them.

That I need. That I am not perfect. I want you to know me as I am. Let them be ashamed of me for the things I did wrong. They laugh at others. I want that, because at 35 I have learned to see them, fortunately, as my friends and accomplices. These last few years I have been concerned about making you feel comfortable with who I am, which broke the closest link: honesty. I built a nice lie, where everything we talked was intended not to worry them, to make them feel that everything was in order. I'm a mess!

Sometimes wonderful and sometimes disappointing, which I like and say is part of my charm. I am dismissed, disorderly with money, little aware of priorities, in my aspirations there is not a master's degree or the first installment of a car, much less investing in nonsense things, I want the street, the people I know, the cities that visit and the books you read remain my school. I want everything to flow without so many rules. That trips to the heart are my closest goal for me, the priority is family and I do not want them to understand it because I know that it is difficult to understand I do not want them to be really proud of me, but simply to know me.

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