Do we have an intended purpose and how well do we carry this role? Is this earth for us a safe or a hostile place? Are we healthy, strong inhabitants of a clearly defined and well-functioning world? Are we mothers and creators?
November 1990, my mother brings with her at the hospital the novel 'Eva Luna' to read after my birth ("We will call her Eva so that she has the will to live..." "How about a surname..." "Her father belonged to the tribe of the children of the Moon. Let's call her Eva Luna"...My name is Eva, which means life, according to a book of names my mother consulted."; Reference: Eva Luna, Isabel Allende). My mother called me Eva; Something that I found deeply ironic for years, as I always had the impression that I wasn’t living life to its full extent, or so I have been told.

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