15/06/2026
I was living the most beautiful moment with my daughter when I caught myself searching for someone to see it.
I write to you from a place of tenderness, because it was that small reflex that made me stop and look within. I cannot always see the most beautiful things, but I find it easy to be conscious of what I am.
When I say that the difficulty of seeing beautiful things comes from the past, I mean the difficulty of appreciating what I am, and the details. There has long been a tendency to want to be seen, born from the difficulty of seeing myself. I recognise this in humanity, even more so when I realise it is one of the clearest signs of trauma: when we were not seen in a specific emotion, or in someone’s gaze.
I think it is the ego, our identity, wanting that approval, that comfort, that magic. And I know and feel that, at times, our approach, our way of being, changes when we are in society, when we are not alone. I have been trying, more and more, to be with others what I am on my own. True to myself, to my own truth.
This is not far from how we are as fathers, and this is where I want to arrive. I see that this kind of relationship exists when we become parents. For some. Perhaps some do not feel it, perhaps others do not perceive it, perhaps others still, through their lack of presence, never even notice it.
What I write was born from something I perceived during ten days alone with my daughter. I was as present as I could be. The tantrums came, the tiredness came, but nothing was hidden. And there were many moments when I managed to truly be with her, so genuinely beautiful. We both received the blessing of no one watching us, and that made everything more special, more authentic.
It was then that I sensed my mind searching, wanting to know if anyone was seeing that beauty. But no one was there. Only us. And that is where the truest bonds are formed, and where memories are born that never fade with time.