Beautiful story, Martin.
Our identities, and how we must spend so much time fighting for who we are. Sometimes in absurd ways distracting us from what we really want.
I sometimes wonder, how much of my racial identity is mine. How much of the tone of my skin has been imposed. Why do I need to spend an absurd amount of time remembering I’m black, or dark skinned, or brown?
Why do I have to think of myself as the black guy who goes to ski instead of the person who lusts after mountains? And yes, if someone loves mountains and they allow me to love them, I’ll love them too. Or shores, or waves, or the invisibility of air. But so, so, real. That invisible element. So essential for flying.
Thank you for writing.
Pablo