Yani Canetti
   
SOY
ESCRIBO
TENGO
RECUERDO
PIENSO
DIGO
DICEN
HAGO
CONFIESO
COMPARTO
ESTOY
       
  Three Toys a Year
I Hate Books
The Other "Me"
Mess Ups
Mi House, My City
37 Times
They Say Tt...
Bad Worhat I Was Racisds
Unfinished Songs
Oh, Freud
La otra "yo"

All the time, people ask me who am I, what am I like...

“Why do they ask me?” I ask myself. “Who am I to know? If they’re looking right at me and don’t know, how do they think that I would know? I don’t see myself when I talk or do anything else.

I believe I am what I want to believe I am, what I want others to think of me, what others actually think of me whether I pretend, show it, or hide it. So really, I have no idea who the heck I am. All I know is that I am like you.

My definition of myself is just as clumsy and limited as that of other people who know me well. If there is any mystery, my books could offer some clues. Especially Al otro lado, which was an exorcism, a catharis, and an anagnorisis all rolled into one.

I’m going to tell you a story that perhaps illustrates my desire to be me, being the “me” I desire...

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