Life. For a long time, and even without knowing it, I was very happy. Of course, I had my heart broken several times and those regular lows that we always complain about (so often without reason). And, I suffered from a boyfriend that was an amazing person but who what psychiatric illness (which, honestly, was not easy at all). But it was only when I received, in a cold and too tight room, the news that my mother had cancer that I realized how happy I had been until that moment.

Of course, at the time, the first question that comes to us is “why?”. Why her and not somebody else? Why was my mother who was super healthy and worried about everyone? Why in so many people cancer had to attack her?

And doctors shrug their shoulders – as they have done too often – and always answer “it was bad luck.” As if life is a game of balance on a tightrope called luck while we try not to fall into the deep abyss of chance.

I must say that accepting this reality is not easy. But to be true, we have no choice (unless falling into depression and, honestly, I’m not that kind of person) we need to go on.

I mean, thinking about it always makes me feel a little bit empty inside. Honestly, all those things they tell us about being healthy and a good person so we can make our karma better is, after all, bullshit. Other than feeling better about ourselves (which is important, of course), being a good person or helping others counts absolutely nothing. As much as I’d like to believe it does.

So, every time I feel this way, I pick up a newspaper or a magazine and go out into the street. I try to focus on the words of others and distract myself from thinking too much about it. At the end of the day, life is a game of chance. And who knows where and how we’re going to wake up tomorrow.