Welcome stranger,
let me be grateful for your presence, I didn't expect to share my path with someone met along the way. We walked for long miles today, and I'm too tired for sharing a personal story. instead, I'll read you this piece of treasure I found when I was in France. It's a lost page of a diary, and apparently he was an architect lost in the void of doubts:
"May 16th 2024, Eveux
*Dear brother,
It has been a troubled trip that brought me here in France, and as I walk through the most genius ideas and astonishing buildings, the journey ends in front of the father of modern architecture.
The Convent of La Tourette stands before me, a silent sentinel among the hills of France. Its imposing façades, a testament of Le Corbusier, beckons me to step inside and unravel its mysteries. Am I worthy of taking this step? I really am unsure.
I begin my tour, tracing the paths that wind through the building like veins coursing with life. The cold embrace of concrete envelops me, a reminder of the architect's bold vision.
And then, in the courtyard, I see them—the monks, their solemn faces. Their simple robes moves in the morning breeze, humility in the face of divine majesty. Long time ago, I too chose my mission, I wanted to be an architect, I wanted to serve the people, I wanted to leave my print on history. I feel like I failed myself, I failed people who trusted me, I detached from the world outside, only to find that the world never rejected me during my absence.
In the chapel, shafts of sunlight pierce through the narrow windows, casting ethereal shadows upon the wooden seats. The monks gather here in quiet contemplation, their prayers echoing off the bare walls.
As I wander through the corridors, I run my fingers along the rough texture of the concrete, feeling the pulse of history beneath my touch. Each crack and imperfection tells a story, a testament, a suggestion yet to be discovered.
In the bedrooms rooms, a sense of peace permeates everything, I feel like being cradled in the woumb of a Higher entity, mother and goddess at the same time. The walls themselves are reaching out to me, whispering secrets and memories of the pilgrims, the monks, the saints who came before.
But it is not just the monks who capture my attention. A group of architecture students comes to visit, their eyes sparkling with curiosity, exploring the building like children with their sense of wonder. They are seeing La Tourette for the first time, guided by their wise and patient professors, and their excitement is contagious. They're loud, the rules of the convent are strict about being silent, but how can I judge their enthusiasm? Watching them, I feel more a sense of guilt. I was one of them. But I don't feel part of it anymore.
Until when, wandering through the building, I see an open door, and there they are, drafting and discussing inside the crypt. In that moment, I was reminded of why I became an architect in the first place.
And as I leave La Tourette, I take my very last moments to contemplate this sanctuary. In this sacred space, amidst the silence and solitude, I have found my purpose once more. Like the monks who find solace in their devotion, I too have found solace in the act of creation. I carry with me a newfound peace. Sometimes, all it takes is a moment of quiet reflection to rediscover what truly matters.
Akira Shizuma"
And you, dear stranger? How many times have you lost faith in yourself? How many times have you doubted the way you were pursuiting? How did you find your purpose again? I'd be grateful to hear your story one day.
For now, goodnight.
Farewell
