If I had to define myself right now, I’d say my name is Nadia, and that for as long as I can remember, I’ve loved to write.
To tell you a bit about me: I studied Literature at the University of Buenos Aires. For many years, I thought I’d dedicate my life to academic writing and teaching.
I spent six years immersed in books, reading authors who, for the most part, are no longer alive. I fell in love with my university, with the classroom, with literary research, with conferences and passionate debates about books.
But the road had other plans for me.
When I enrolled in the Literature program, I never imagined I’d end up leaving my country — or that traveling would become my new religion.
A scholarship in Croatia, the country of my ancestors, led me to leave behind everything I had built in my early twenties.
In a way, it wasn’t a decision. It just happened.
The pandemic caught me in Croatia, and I couldn’t return to Argentina. When the borders finally reopened and I had the chance to go back to my old life, I didn’t want to — because I had already crossed too many internal borders.
I changed my career, my country, my community, even my language — but I never stopped loving writing.
The fact that writing has been one of the few constants in my life made me want to reconnect with that deeper part of myself.
In this space, I want to share the reflections and lessons that this path has taught me — through a nomadic lifestyle, a constant reinvention of my everyday life, and the slow unraveling of my identity.
How did I end up wandering the world with no fixed destination? What does it feel like to live without a home or a homeland?
Malaysia.
Vietnam.
Chiang Rai.
Maybe I’m still trying to answer that timeless question — “Who am I?” — through these words I write from all corners of the world.
Thank you for visiting my blog. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.
— Nadia