Mariella Gattini

I live in a suburb located north of Dallas. I’m shocked and heartbroken by the shootings that occurred after a pacific demonstration, which took place in downtown Dallas, two days ago.

Life in Texas hasn’t been easy the past ten years for the majority economically, but it has been particularly hard for African-Americans, Hispanics, and their relationship with the law enforcement in the most humble communities. The high temperatures and high humidity in the air have not helped one bit. I see people in my surroundings worried, stressed out, and sad. It’s very depressing.

The ones Texans call Hispanics are really Mexicans for the most part. They are a very resilient bunch, always busy working on something, always giving their one hundred percent.

African-Americans are very well integrated in the community where I live, and the law enforcement in my environment is very helpful and impartial. Maybe that’s the case because I live in what is considered a high-income neighborhood.

Last year, in May to be precise, I made a pathetic attempt to leave and look for a place in another state. I thought I wasn’t going to be able to stand another Texan summer. My unrealistic expectations caught up with me very rapidly, I came back, and realized that I was coming back home.

I don’t regret the trip though, I had a great time, I met two wonderful real estate agents, who worked hard at finding something suitable for me, and, in exchange, I made a real effort to adapt to the different spaces shown. I met a few extraordinary homeowners, too. It was a pleasant experience, but I couldn’t make my mind up.

The good thing is that I came back with a new story, one that I crafted in my new novel, which I finally managed to finish. I’m editing it as we speak. It’s a fictional story.

I can’t emphasize enough the fact that I don’t write about myself, but because people don’t know me, they tend to think that I write about me and my opinions. I don’t, I write about what I hear in restaurants, work places, family reunions. My characters come alive with the face of one person, the body of another, and the soul of a third one.

I have a very fulfilling life, because I can be who I choose to be in my private life and still be accepted and loved. Therefore, I don’t need my books or this blog as an outlet for my thoughts. I have all the freedom I need to do as I please.

I created this blog so you can know me better, get informed of the kind of books I write, and what the intentions are behind those books.

The core of my writing is found in freedom, period. Freedom of thought, with no people telling me the way I should write. Freedom to give a voice to the unheard, as unacceptable as that can be for the ones who are used to one way of thinking and one way of writing, people who have been trained to hear just one side of the story, and therefore they are trapped, they are slaves of that world. How different their lives would be if they could experience the big world out there.

How different everything would be if everyone was able to face their difficulties and misunderstandings, and to stand up for themselves, with words, with the written language. Desperation and the consequent violence come out of the absence of language, or misuse of it. Words can be lethal, bad-intentioned elitists know it very well, but they never escape to hide in the anonymity hole, where cowards hide, without taking with them a piece of my mind.

I understand them to a certain extent, it must be threatening to face somebody like me, a woman who doesn’t allow others to define her, or put limitations on her spirit. How dare I be myself! When those elitists have crafted their resumes since kindergarten, and still don’t get ahead. How dare I speak about freedom from the chains of your own docility that forces you to speak the words of others!

Too cryptic? I don’t think so, I’m sure you know what I mean. It’s easier to try to silence a free person than becoming free from your own prejudices and limitations. It’s easier to put out of your mind somebody who decides to be free, with no need for apologies, than being free yourself and accept the responsibility that that entails.

We can choose to turn things around, or we can choose to destroy ourselves. In any circumstance, we all have a choice. I choose freedom of thought. I choose to be alive and free.