I write every two weeks. Sometimes to understand the world; other times, to understand myself. I sit before a map, like someone staring at an old chessboard, trying to decipher the strategy of international geopolitics. I imagine nations as pieces—advancing, retreating, or standing still—and I, a still spectator, watching as the entire board shifts beneath my feet. I ask myself: What has happened in these last fifty years?
The world has shed its skin many times. I saw the Berlin Wall fall, and with it, a way of understanding the planet. I witnessed the end of the Cold War, the rise of China, and long wars like those in Iraq and Afghanistan. I lived through September 11, 2001—a day that forever changed the idea of security. I watched the 2008 financial crisis, felt the pulse of climate change, witnessed the Paris Agreement, and endured a pandemic that stopped the Earth, forcing us to look closely at one another.
In my closer horizon, Morocco and Spain were weaving their own story. I was born with the end of Franco, the Green March, two kings in Morocco, and four presidents in Spain. I saw Spain join the euro and celebrated Morocco’s return to the African Union. I learned English to the rhythm of Elton John, mourned with the sad notes that followed the death of Lady Di. I worked in real estate, tourism, and international relations; I found myself in coaching, testing it first on myself before offering it to others.
Mallorca gave me the most beautiful flower I have ever seen: I called her Tangier. And when Tangier called me, I opened my heart to her sword and made it the backbone of my life. Mallorca, Tangier, Morocco, Europe, and Africa… they are the wheel of my existence.
In my writings, I do not aim to offer solutions or dictate lessons; I simply leave my point of view, like a bottle cast into the sea, for anyone who wishes to pick it up. Sometimes I practice neutrality, other times belonging. But always, in every word, I strive to preserve the truth.
Because if there is one thing I have learned in these fifty years, it is that the world can change its face every dawn, but an honest gaze—the kind that does not fear to acknowledge both light and shadow—remains the only lighthouse worth keeping lit.
