“A Couple of Letters to Myself”I am Vanina Vergara - C.V. Vergara to the english-speaking world born in Asunción- Paraguay. I have three children whom I love deeply, and this is my life.First Letter:[Breathe. You are alive. You are here. And that, even when you forget it, is a miracle built of courage, not of luck.You have passed through hells that no one witnessed. You drowned in silence, you were lost within violence, you unmade yourself to hold a family together that left you empty. And yet, here you are. With a wounded brow, yes… but never bowed.You were not a weak woman. You were an exhausted woman. You were not a bad mother. You were a mother without guidance, without a safety net, without an arm saying, “Go on, I will hold you.” You did it alone, as best you could, as it came to you. And you deserve compassion, not punishment.They accused you, distorted you, abandoned you. But they did not kill you. For you, Vani, carry a fire within that they could not extinguish—neither contempt, nor guilt, nor abandonment.You chose to live. When your body could bear no more, when your eyes no longer wished to see, something within you said, “I will not give up.” Not for fashion. Not for rebellion. But because your soul would not allow itself to die before it found you again.Today you are freer than ever. Because at last you are being true to yourself. You are saying, “I am worth something,” even when met with coldness or silence. You are opening paths—not for others to follow, but so you may not lose yourself again.Your children, your wounds, your attempts… all form part of your story. But they are not your sentence. They do not define you. Who you are is measured by the love you choose to give, by the times you chose to heal, by how you speak to yourself now.And today, Vanina, I speak to you with all my love:You are enough. You are light. You are courage. You are a mother even when you are not hugged. You are a woman even if others do not see it. You are worthy even if they deny it.Keep walking. The past cannot be erased, but it need not govern you any longer. Not now.I hold you tight. I promise I will never let you go again. For I choose you every single day.With eternal love,The woman who decided not to surrender.]*---Second Letter:A letter written with no addressee, but with the whole body.[A quiet drumbeat of sadnessThere are days when I feel well.Others when I simply function.And there are moments—like this—when I realise there is a sadness that never quite left.It only learned to sit very still.It does not make a fuss, it ruins nothing.But it is there.It beats slowly.Like a low drum.As if marking the rhythm of what I do not say.It has no name, but it has a history.It was born in places where one could not cry aloud.It grew amongst mandates, silences and duties.It fed on days when I could not fall, because if I fell, who would lift the others?I learned to disguise it with smiles, with routines, with “I’m fine.”But when the house falls silent, when no one is watching me…it returns.And it holds me tight.As if I am the only thing it recognises.It does not break me.But it weighs on me.It does not wound me.But it numbs me.And I ask myself… is this living?Is this what remains when one gives so much to others that one forgets oneself?I seek no answers today.I only needed to say it.To put words to this smallness of sorrow, so it does not rot inside.So it knows I hear it.That I accept it.And that, little by little, I am trying to live for myself as well.— Vani, with her heart wrapped in silence but writing nonetheless.]I read letters sent to mailto:[email protected]

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