The Passion According to G.H.

by Clarice Lispector

Until now finding myself was already having an idea of a person and fitting myself into it: I’d incarnate myself into this organized person, and didn’t even feel the great effort of construction that is living.

But I’m afraid of newness and I’m afraid of living whatever I don’t understand — I always want to be sure to at least think I understand, I don’t know how to give myself over to disorientation.

Have I finally lost a whole system of good taste? But is that all I’ve gained? I must have lived so imprisoned to feel freer now just because I no longer fear the lack of aesthetics.

What others get from me is then reflected back onto me, and forms the atmosphere called: “I.”