I've been once told that loneliness isn't the others fault's, that I was the only guarantor of my situation. It's quite naturally that I then rejected every aspect of complicated social interaction, I kept myself from to much investment but never felt into self-pity or isolation . By the way my name is Pol, with an "O", I am the average 19 years old student, reckless, dreamer , idle. I daily spend my time reading at home, I love to sit on my green plastic chair in the courtyard just in front of my room. I read a lot , reality is not that bad but it's better when it is described by somebody else's words  . At this time I wasn't seeing myself doing anything but reading and let the life go , but I always felt , deep inside of me that I wasn't completely sure to be able to stay in place . I always wanted to be part of something bigger , I mean philosophically bigger . One day I read about Lilith , I had heard of her , that she was the first woman figure and that she was banned from Heaven , but that  had never really caught my eyes .

So I read about her , more and more , it became an obsession, she was characterizing that feeling that I often experienced , that feeling that something lays hidden inside of you , something that once shone but then disappears in the expectancy that it will strike back . I liked the way it felt when i approached what looked like to be some kind of answer , I was focused , didn't tell my friends about that new obsession. I needed to know more about that story , so I decided to go where that belief was still taught , in a church or at least in any place that had a link with Christianism . I did not know where to begin , the only proximity I once had with religion was trough my mother’s notes that I read when she died . It consisted of several note books, more actually sketchbooks , she punctuated her notes with small schematic explanations . To the quote parenthood she made a pyramidal scheme, on the top was god . I really felt uncomfortable with my mother religious proximity, even when she was still alive I was never interested in what she was doing , in what she was feeling. But I noticed once that she loved writing, I surprised her once when she was writing, I was a young kid , I spent the whole afternoon outside trying to build what looked like to be a small town, I was using small sticks that I had first cut with my pocket knife , and stings from an old clothing piece. I was finishing the town hall when , I felt thirsty . So I went inside looking for my mom . We where at this time living in an old house , I really loved that house it was built in stone but the inside was made of wood , I liked the ways the was making noise when you stepped on . So I came , looking for my mother , there were nobody in the kitchen, the house was quite as ever , nobody in the living room, so I went upstairs , found the door of my mother’s room half open, I could hear the noise of the pencil scratching on the paper , so I walked in pushed the door with my right hand . My mom was not alone .

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