The place where we’re born insidiously leads us to death. The occasional need to leave our native city is probably just the manifestation of a keen sense of place. One that made me feel, now, that I loved the city of my childhood, the humble places where simple people knew nothing about doubt and travels. To live continually at the point of impact of two languages turns the mind into a kind of monochrome. I knew now that it was essential to sojourn in one of those golden cities where people live, speak and die without even an idea of the happiness inherent in living, speaking and dying in a powerful, unique language. Otherwise, we might forget that whatever the language, there are words that elude us all our life.