I don t call myself a cynic, even though many would. I prefer to think of myself as a realist. I don t need comforting fairy tales to face life, its beauty and its cruelty. Reality, however harsh, is enough. I find it more stimulating, more challenging.
I remember Sundays spent in church, the muffled sound of the organ, the monotonous prayers, the unbearable weight of hypocrisy. Those empty rituals never touched me; on the contrary, they always left me unsatisfied, with a deep restlessness that I couldn t understand. Then, over time, I understood. It wasn t my own insufficiency, but the very absence of what they were trying to fill me with.
Today, my spirituality lies in the beauty of creation, in the complexity of science, in compassion for others. I believe in the intrinsic value of life, in human solidarity, in the power of knowledge. These are my divinities , the thing that guide me, the sources of my inspiration. I don t need a heaven to hope, nor a hell to fear. I only hav
