If every human alive in this moment was to publish a single word on the internet, then no human could ever read all of those words in a lifetime.
There was a time when books were the product of writers and newspapers of journalists. Writers and Journalists were spending their time formatting ideas in something meaningful and pleasurable to read.
Today things are different. Today everyone can sputter words in uncoordinated fragments and broadcast to the world a deafening murmur of platitudes.
I was born in a different age, but is not that what refrains me from speeding my fingers on a keyboard for every trifle that enters my vision. I have dear friends, older than me, that became machine guns of the internet nonsensical rumble. Age does not matter.
For me it is a very simple matter of pride. I really believe my effort is worth more than the half second it takes for a distracted reader to click a like or type three words of comment before oblivious pass to the next post.
I believe that what I have to say is worth the time to open a page and read through it. Do you think it is rubbish? Well, at least it is quality rubbish that grabbed your attention so far.
You already arrived here, at this point you can even go on and read more. If not else at least to make a wholly informed judgement. If you give up now, then you wasted your time for nothing.
I might have something to say and you may miss it, or I am really not worth reading, but you will never know.
Thank you that you are still here. Now I can explain you more
You may ask why am I writing this collection of things and have I built this website to present them, when plenty of more popular platforms are available on the internet.
Once more, it is about the value of what I write and the time you dedicate to it. I think it is worth to build a proper showcase for it. I don't want to write on the same paper used by everyone else.
I don't want to spend time to writing worthy things and then see scores or people I don’t even know leaving comments to my writing on the same page. I don’t want readers to write on my pages no matter how educated or uneducated they are. Readers read. Period.
Do you write comments on a book you read? You may comment it with your friends, on other papers, you may even write to the author, but you don't go to a library and scribble comments and likes on books you find there.
I write here. If you want to write then you find your own space and write there. If you want to write to me, then you are welcome to write a letter by email, one person to one person, not to broadcast for the public. Two people thinking and writing and reading and thinking in turns.
Finally, a question and an answer: why now, why do I start and write here in my fifty-ninth year?
If my idea was to start a writer's carrier then probably I would have had better to start differently.
I am a migrant. I left Italy nearly 20 years ago and before that I already travelled to many countries, not for tourism, but working and living my daily life in different places for months in a row. I moved to China in year 2000, and in China too I travelled and lived in many places.
I am 58 in 2018 and I have passed through many experiences. Most of the people around me have never seen the things I have witnessed because they are too young or because they never moved away from home.
There might be a reason for humans to grow old. Biologically we are a species of nomadic gatherers and hunters and aging make us inept for that type of life. Then why we can grow so old that we become a burden for the community? It does not seem to make sense from an evolutionary point of view.
Maybe the explanation is the human community. Somehow, during our biological history as a species we humans developed something that survives our bodies and that is a legacy of knowledge and stories, the base of our culture.
Those who lived longer could collected more stories and experiences. They were becoming inept as hunters and gatherers as their ageing bodies were failing them, but they were the precious repository of that very knowledge empowering the group, the keepers of a treasure of knowledge and wisdom.
They were the ones staying in the shelter with the kids, too old the ones and too young the others to go gather the food. They were the storytellers and the listeners, the teachers and the disciples. I also like to imagine the mothers staying behind to take care of the kids, as the ones cultivating and applying that knowledge in leading the community life.
Maybe I am right enough, maybe I got it all wrong, but I have a genuine feeling about it.
I started to write my stories because I feel like sharing my little treasure of experience.
Differently than money this treasure will never consume no matter how much of it I give away, on the contrary it will grow bigger, but it would be lost forever if I kept and buried it with me.
Put this way it would make sense to share it even for a greedy person, and I am not quite greedy.