I have been alone at home for 20 weeks due to the pandemic, some days look like the same, some others don't. Sometimes hours are reduced to minutes, some others minutes become hours. Present seems like an eternity and at the same time, like everyone, I feel more vulnerable than ever.
The alarm clock sounds very early in the morning and although the hour doesn't matter because there is no place to go, the endless pressure to "be someone" still remains. I convince myself by the idea that I must be productive to achieve it and I saturate myself with activities, because it's better to do anything to believe that everything goes by faster, than to go through the constant fear and uncertainty.
I insist myself to live in the moment, but I rarely have success. As days go by, my perception of time changes and my need to control it manifests by itself. Photography has become the anchor that takes me out of the monotony and forces me to look beyond the same four walls.
Isolation has allowed me to revisit the past through the house I have lived since I was born. Also, I’ve been able to confront my beliefs from a nonstop introspective process. In my heart I knew I needed to stop and find myself in the emptiness: I was living for the wrong reasons.