Abandoned malls playing old songs

When I started drafting this issue three weeks ago, I had an idea of what I wanted to talk about but much happened in between. First I took some time off on vacations, tried to relax and buried my face in fantasy books. Nearly at the same time, a big games industry scandal broke out and sucked in all my energy, even if as a bystander. And I didn't know what to write about anymore. Although things have been slowly calming and I recovered some of my creative impulse, I still don't know what to say.I have been filling my free hours with joy and friendship, as much as possible. Also reading (Sweden has made me an avid reader again). That lead me to pick up a book by Fernando Pessoa in english, which is a whole experience in itself. Portuguese is a very romantic language, and Pessoa in particular explores it with beautiful prose, so seeing how it translates to another language is good food for a hungry brain. During these weeks I understood that this state of not knowing what to say is also out of fear of hurting others with empty words, to be out of touch or out of place. But it also weakens my own voice, the voice that wishes to claim its valid space as a woman, as part of this community. I still haven't figured out what to do with this. So while this plays out, I share here a bit of Pessoa, in english, an excerpt from the very beginning of The Book of Disquiet: "My soul is a hidden orchestra; I do not know what instruments, what violins and harps, drums and tambours, sound and clash inside me. I know myself only as a symphony."In that paragraph I realized the right stories do not get lost in translation or time - they persist.Good for all of us.-Maíra