I have never found myself in a situation where I had to describe myself, or at least explain "in words" what kind of person I am, how I can be recognized without being seen or heard in person.

so I won’t do it. instead of a biographically useless description of myself, I want to leave two things written:
1. questo spazio l’ho creato per poter racchiudere le mie passioni, le mie parole e alcuni dei miei progetti. se vi piacciono, se provate sintonia con quello che scrivo oppure se volete contattarmi per qualsiasi progetto di qualsiasi tipo, lascio qui la mia mail e i miei contatti social. e soprattutto per essere uno spazio per esprimersi liberamente, per guardarci dentro e dire ciò che abbiamo paura di ammettere… un luogo di connessione, comunità e libertà. 
2. since I have no other means to tell you about myself, I present Nina, through one of my texts:

Food that fills, food that empties. Cigarettes that calm, cigarettes that stun. Kisses that fill, kisses that confuse. Wind that blows, time that passes. The periods of my life are all a bit like this: a continuous oscillation between extremes. Extreme happiness and extreme disappointment. I wonder if people can see all of this... they say I am light, they say I am cheerful, they say I bring lightness, they say so many things, yet I never speak. It’s been a long time since I spoke to myself, since I’ve said anything in front of my soul lost in the illusions of the present. I wonder if I will ever coincide with what I live, with what I feel, with what I choose...

How much shadow is there in this light, how much sadness is there in this joy, how much pain in this love? I constantly recognize myself in these trees, in these walls, in these gazes so human, yet I never seem to recognize myself in me. I throw words onto these white backgrounds that ask my emotions to come out and shout their truth, yet what comes out is always something very little personal, much more universal. Like when I seek affection, but upon finding it, I distance myself with repulsion; like when you sing a song, but you know you’re out of tune; like when you want to be someone, but you find yourself being no one.

I wonder if I know how to live with my own nothingness. I ask you if we know how to see how incapable we are… incapable of expressing ourselves, incapable of smiling, incapable of existing…

We try, we plod on, we attempt to achieve something, to materialize these illusions of ours, but at the end of the story, the moral is that we have become more human doing than human beings.

I have lost awareness of what my being is, but I have gained awareness of what we are. And in this we, I place my hopes… because otherwise, it would mean that I am truly incapable of being.

And as I write this, with an imminent exam and so much pain behind me, I smile, because at least this page is no longer blank, and my words are shouting their truth into the silence of this sky.

Thank you..