This is my first entry, and I have to say that I owe a sense of gratitude to the friend of mine who has inspired me to use words as a vehicle to navigate the tumult, the infinite potentiality, that comprises what is my life. Thank you, Mr... You know who you are.

I wake up this morning from a harrowing dream:

My mother's voice, young and sweet, unencumbered by the fatal reigns of alcohol comes to me over a phone. Surprised, I am speechless. Tenatively, I listen to her; her words envelop me, they resonate in my mind, in me. She says: 'Sofia?' Silence. 'Sofia?' Still unable to utter a word. She continues, sensing my presence on the phone, 'I'm not dead. I'm alive. I had to get away from everything for a little while.' A montage of images of her lying in a bare wooden coffin, her face draped in white fabric emerges in my mind. She can comprehend my thoughts; she says, 'It was a lie, Sofia. I had to get away for a while and now I'm okay. I'm coming back.' And with her beautiful promise to me, she fades into the background, and I am alone, alone with a phone and the echo of a voice that I will not hear for the rest of my days.