Forgive me, I have forgotten about you when you’ve been the only thing that has always been there. Since I was 10 years old—when someone (and oh, how I wish I could remember who) gave me my very first diary—I haven’t stopped writing. I’ve got dozens of diaries that tell my day-to-day, my joys, my sufferings, my paths, my mistakes. I documented it all and kept on going here, in this blog I made public. I stripped myself bare for anyone who wanted to read. The point was never to keep anything inside… but it’s getting harder, because I’ve got so much inside me, and sometimes I forget about you.

I don’t want to tell you anything; I want to keep it to myself. But then a moment comes when I understand it can’t be that way, that only you listen, only you let my words slide across your blank pages. And you don’t judge me, you don’t reproach me. In silence, you let me pour it all out, everything I carry inside, the things you know I need to share, the things you know will come out and keep coming out… and never stop.

Forgive me for forgetting, forgive me for not trusting you and for letting my soul drift away from you. Today I’m here to ask your forgiveness, and to ask you to keep letting my words glide across your white pages again and again.

Today I don’t write for you or for me. I write to empty all the superficial stuff so I can reach the bottom… ufff, ok, enough, if you’ve made it this far, congrats. What a ramble I just threw at you! But my blog, my white pages, they deserve an apology—and you, dear readers, do too. I’m sorry it took me so long to come back and write my little shits… even though now I mostly share on social media, it’s true that my essence and my truth shine brighter through my written words.

Since my mom left me on April 22nd, I haven’t been myself, and I’m still not me. I’ve lost a big part of myself, and although I try to forget and keep living, she’s still there, in my memories, in my mind, and in my dreams. Her voice is still in my head, telling me everything is going to be OK and that she’s still with me… Mom, I miss you so much, but it’s time to get up and open a new path.

I was going to say that 2025 hasn’t given me anything good, but that’s not true. It has given me health, family, friends, work, and many joys. Even though the universe keeps playing with me and pushing me to the limit, throwing up barriers (maybe they’re imaginary ones), for now I see them and I try to tear them down. In a few weeks I’ll turn 57 years old, and I’m still searching for that “something that isn’t there“… I keep hearing my little inner voice stopping me every time I try to tell it I’m not afraid, that I’m going to keep going. But that voice keeps yelling louder and louder, and the other day I even told it to shut up for a while, hahahaha.

I don’t want this post to sound tragic. Those who know me know I’m a very positive and cheerful person, and even though life has splashed me with shit more than once, I keep smearing that shit on myself and carrying it inside me so its essence doesn’t get lost—because it’s part of me. And without those little shitty messes that happen to me, I wouldn’t be who I am, or who I will become.

I’m starting a new stage in my life, full of new freedoms, but still inside a cage. I need to let those last bars of the cage fall away so I can fly freely and keep walking my path, looking for new little shitty messes to splash me.

I’ll keep updating you on social media, but you’ll always have this blog to hear the inner Nuria, who’ll tell you things that the outer Nuria will never say out loud—because she’s still not able to.

So forgive me, blog. Forgive me, diary. Forgive me, readers, for taking so long to come back. I hope you find here a secret space inside me.