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I Florence. I wish my parents that 9 moons before with my own eyes saw the sun told me how it was. They decided that Florence is not any other, regardless of the long list of additional names from A to Z including the issue of Ser Padres that my mother bought excited about the summer of '88, thinking that there would be the response. I am the light of certain instant, that feeling pervades everything, that you feel when you know about the truth. Florence is my name and is part of my existence because they wanted so, without asking, but with the hope that I would. And now I like it because they liked and that a thread of the hundreds of thousands of threads that make me who I am. Could not have been Florence? Would it have been the same?

I Argentina. I am a long chain of more than a century that connects me to the country's intractable I come from, what is this and will remain so even pretend you were someone else. Nothing will erase my identity card ink a word Argentina (sacred and capital from the time of my ancestors with their footprints marked the promised land), nothing will be deleted. I am my maternal grandmother and her parents who wanted to call the same word and name, to be quite clear suspicion that here marked the history of their children and grandchildren and so on up to the writer. Blas am my paternal great-grandfather who made their marks heavy and bloody war in children's stories remain intact in the memory of my ancestors. I hear that recur like chronic truer than reality, and I dare not correct based on my academic history classes because there remains itself, that that might not be in the books because they are not universal but it makes me who I am (and that's enough and to spare). I am every moment of every member of my family ever thought about leaving and did not. I've been in the chest and heart flag Argentina, not Italy or any other country, and much as stretch out my imagination conceive of never reach otherwise.

I am a woman. I genetics that makes me XX and not XY, and I recognize myself to be happy. Chromosomes and hormones that I have only my gender being could have. It was a long list of history which made my DNA is this and not any other. I'm an aggregate more than the sum of which is an overwhelming majority of women in my family. For a woman I will mom, I will be a refuge for a child to be formed with half above and half of everything above, but from his father. And I will be part of it but sometimes prefer going to release my ghosts and my forehead lines.

I have noticed that I'm not just myself but others who came before me and will come later, or not wanting to do so. When all is said and done, I'm made of relationships, I am only a social product. What would you do if they were not but others? Who would?

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A fairy tale

There was a story that was not yet born. The small, fragile as the role that dress someday, I spent entire afternoons imagining what would your pages. He aspired to great and illustrious lyrics, solid arguments, sophisticated terms, critical success.

The story dreamed, planned and thought about their existence beyond (beyond what I knew, which is more or less what know more here). And boy was no easy task! For a story without form or content is almost no story.

And so that afternoon (the afternoon) the creature walked very quiet street in the world of the books yet but unborn babies. Sometimes starting a conversation with one of their fellow citizens, but never could finish it as God intended because they could not anticipate it disappeared. The moons changed as one changes from perfume, and night after night was the dew on your skin because more was less protected, more alone. The story of the imminent future with eyes looking up there and wondered why he never chose. Expected without knowing what was coming. Trusted without reading the lines of its future.

All this happened while I was thinking about how to make a story. As tested combinations and see that no result, I also felt more alone and less protected. But in an invisible magic moment I found out, and did find out that story and this are the same. Today I read while I write, and he knows right and is read. And meanwhile in the world of books unborn unborn but expect other jasmines ...