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Silvia begins telling her story





In my growing up with you, father, I now think there was an autistic quality. I offer this not as a criticism but as a diagnosis if it interests you.
As a child, of course, you loved me and I loved you, but, even then, you treated me as you waited to be treated. Perhaps it started unconsciously, but you slowly translated me into an inscrutable object of your vision.
And in fact, we were having inscrutable commerce with each other's hearts, during those perfect days.
That is the way I felt indeed year after year, above all after turning eighteen. After that point, in fact, I realized how separate we were, two enterprises on the go, yours and mine. What your enterprise was I couldn't say, but it was opaque to me. The more I gained my life the more I felt it opaque, and distant.
I am sorry father to say that, but that was what was disquieting me, and I couldn't say it to you. It lacked the courage. You were like a distant fading away image that I was unable to stop and grab.

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