Parlons de ce que nous laisse ce voyage. Un souvenir, une pensée, une image, des mots qui résistent à l'oubli! Parlons de cette vie là, qui se vit et qui sévit! une vie qui passe encore et encore et puis qui s'arrête pour toujours!
Thus ends the month of resolutions. Thus closes a first chapter of 2026. We find ourselves already a little older with our dreams, sometimes disappointed by our pursuit of perfection, yet brought back to a simpler truth: our habits, our renunciations, and our quiet persistence. For the most fatalistic, it is time to return to the familiar. For those who still hope, the road remains open. In eleven months, there is still time to reformulate, adjust, readjust.
We are rich only in the people we love. Those who make us laugh and support us, those who advise us and bring us back to what matters, those who see the invisible, sense the unspoken, and help us recognise our limits when that is the wisest choice. Our true wealth is them. Listening is a virtue. Stepping aside, letting the other wander, letting their thoughts emerge. Offering words or silence so they can heal themselves. It is a gift, simple and essential. Letting go is a virtue. We renounce things every day without noticing. But letting go of what we fought for, of what we believed essential, simply because we must that is difficult. That is noble.
We spend childhood wanting to please, filling boxes and expectations, leaving ourselves behind so that the family won’t leave us. Then comes adolescence, when we lose ourselves again trying to resemble others, hoping people will gather around us too. And when the age of reason finally arrives, finding oneself becomes the only quest that truly matters. We are all born equal or almost with different stories and backgrounds. What truly sets us apart are our thoughts. They become ideas, compasses that transform us and show the way. We are rich with what we think, for thought always draws the first path toward what we will become. 29 We all come from a family, an inheritance, a memory, a burden. We carry within us these invisible, unbreakable bonds that shape our steps, our strengths, and our lacks. We come from a past we must either repair or give thanks to.
I am drawing it, clumsily, imperfectly. It is a sketch with blurred outlines, with hesitant strokes, but it is mine. Slowly, I am learning to defy conventions, to break the invisible chains that hold me back. What a contradiction… What a tragedy it is to grow up! If childhood knew, it would not ask so many questions to adults who, long ago, gave up on the magic of searching.