I light a cigarette and look up the sky. I can see only few stars tonight, and the night is a wee bit chilly. I am peeved because what Gerardo has said is true: I am scared to death of writing. I know why he asked me about writing – because he is worried about me. I know that Jorgito too is worried about me although he did not reproach me directly, but I am very sure that he is still wondering why I have not gotten started. Gerardo knows me very well and must have been feeling that I am scared of writing – that is why he wanted to encourage me and push me to get started. They are true friends. I should have composed myself and should have accepted my inability to get started. However, I could not stop defending myself to him, because I know deep inside that he is absolutely right: I am afraid of starting to write. I very much love writing – I always write long letters to my friends and constantly write my own thoughts, but alas, whenever I try to write my book, I suddenly become paralyzed: I just cannot write anything. I didn’t want to acknowledge to my friends that I cannot write. This is my weakness. They are my true friends, so I should show them my weakness as well, but if the thing concerns writing, I refuse to show my inability to write to anyone even if they are my best friends. Because if I admit, all my strength, belief, and faith will be gone. Perhaps, I still cannot believe in myself fully; therefore, I defend myself obstinately whenever being asked about the progress of my book. I know that I have to use the worthy circumstances fully to start writing something; however, I am paralyzed. I am not able to write. And I am not ready to admit my weakness to even my best friends.