top of page
  • Writer's picturematilde tomat

reserv·ātiō /09

iacta alea est [Julius Caesar]

Yesterday I didn't go out nor I felt like doing anything. It was my birthday and I felt [and acted] like a rebel. Regardless of the rebellion, I missed the walk and I spent the day trying to pinpoint and delineate, or even circumscribe this grey block of my previous post. I felt a surge of frustration at the beginning which morphed in tears when I realised that the first instance of me recognising the block was in 1989 or 1990, when I was offered to move to NY and work with an anthropologist and writer. Maybe not many of you know that in August 1988 my brain shut down and I turned from an easy-going, adventurous, happy traveller and explorer of life in general and not fazed by anything, to a petrified, silent little thing, filled with medications, weird ideas and irrational fears, locked somewhere, within and without of myself. If anyone wants to know more, the story can be found in my book Rebeltherapy on Amazon HERE.

I realised though that is not so much the event itself of waking up as my usual self and finding myself stripped of everything I have known including my own identity, memories, values, and knowledge by 10 am that created the block. It was the reason that led me to that silencing that I think did it. I was ready to live a life of studies abroad, drama, theatres, travelling, singing, and performing. I was open to every opportunity, ready to change plans at a moment's notice, adaptable, free, eager and fully trusting the universe. And then, by someone else decision, I had to change my plans. I had to say "Yes, Sir!" and especially "Yes, Ma'am!" and completely erase all my expectations. I could not rebel. I did not have a voice. I felt not seen, not heard, not cherished. My world crumbled. I died inside a little bit, every day. Every day a little bit more till I could not take it any longer. So, I shut down.

I think that there must be within me a part that while hoping, trying, creating work and making stuff, writing and blogging, and daydreaming... still expects nothing in return. That I will, again, be overseen, not heard, not cherished, not understood. So, what's the point of even trying?!

I understand now when the block was useful and helpful and I probably would not have survived without it. At the same time, I think that now is the time to ask the block to lift itself because I can handle rejection. But I also want to hope and be open to receiving the opportunities that come my way. I want to keep on trying leaning into the fear.

I know that there is a part of me that needs dying. There are ties that need cutting, old friendships that need to take a step back while we admit that we have drifted apart. I can only hope and try, fully, to be open to welcome the future by getting rid of part of my past. Iacta alea est said [allegedly] Caesar on 10th January 49 BC crossing the Rubicon: the die is cast. I have reached a point of no return and I had enough.

Part of my elucubrations have been addressed while out in York with a dear friend, walking the city walls and looking at hot air balloons over our heads, reminiscing old times and laughing and planning and then more laughing, while I felt proud when holding the printed copy of my final thesis in my hands.

So, really:

onwards + upwards > out + about

to the future!



Date : 12 OCT 2023

Duration : whole day out

Steps: 18,883 [!!!]

Location : York

Weather : beautiful & sunny

T : 12°

6 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


Rated 0 out of 5 stars.
No ratings yet

Add a rating

Thanks for subscribing!

bottom of page