Something very strange happened to me yesterday (although, thinking about it, strange things happening to me isn’t really that strange, because my life itself is already quite strange).

While doing one of those social media trends, I asked ChatGPT to create a caricature of me using all the little bits of crap I keep telling it, asking it, and throwing at it every day. The image didn’t surprise me that much: it was full of actress, producer, creativity and artistic-world stuff.
What did surprise me was that, very representative yet almost hidden or forgotten, there was writing. And the most surprising thing of all: there was absolutely nothing about dance.

Not surprising because I’ve been away from that world for many years, but because when I really stopped to think and meditate on that image, I realized something powerful: it had captured my essence. My true essence.

If I close my eyes and think about my first artistic memory, I see myself with my maternal grandmother watching old movies. Beautiful, glamorous actresses on TV, perfectly dressed and made up, joyful, free… or at least that’s how I imagined them. And I thought: I want to be like that, a movie star. Every birthday, when it was time to make a wish, that was my wish.

Then ballet appeared in my life, one of my great passions, and it made me forget the other dream. At the same time, I started writing obsessively in my diaries, telling myself —or the universe— everything that happened to me every day: every sadness, every joy, every person I met, every person I stopped seeing. I threw up words, one after another, everything, no filter.

My obsession with writing is so strong that I don’t feel at peace if I don’t write every single day, whatever it is. I think it helps keep me sane… or maybe it helps me control the madness I carry inside.

And going back to the strange part: how could an artificial intelligence capture that essence with only the few details I casually share every day?

I don’t even know how to define myself anymore when people ask, “What do you do?”. It’s really hard to answer. I don’t have a single profession; I’ve done everything and I’m still doing everything. Having to define myself with one word or one job feels almost impossible. And depending on the answer I give —which I often invent depending on the moment— I feel like I’m lying to the other person… or to myself.

I believe each of us has desires rooted in our souls, desires that travel from life to life. In some lives we let them bloom, in others we hide from them, and in others we’re simply oblivious. I’m not sure which life I’m in, or which stage, or what is real and what isn’t. I don’t even really know who I am, who I should be, or who I want to be. Maybe I do know, but I don’t want to confirm it yet.

For now, I prefer to live day by day, trying to improve that version of myself that I don’t even fully know.

What’s truly strange is that a simple image made me reflect so deeply, surprised me, and somehow answered some of the doubts that still live inside me.

Is the dream of that little girl watching movies with her grandmother still there? Or can that dream no longer become reality? Am I really not going to be that beautiful, glamorous actress because now I’m older and chubby?
(Yeah, yeah… that’s my negative mind talking. Leave me alone — I already have enough with myself without listening to you too.)

What I’m trying to say is that I still haven’t quite found myself. And my famous phrase, “always searching for something that isn’t there,” continues to be the motto of my life.

But I also know I’m on the right path, and that reflections like this one will slowly take me to the place where I’m meant to be, doing what I’m meant to do —whatever that may be— while always honoring the dreams of that little girl.