From Which Void Was This Book Born? – The First Crack of Lines of the Void

I didn’t write this book from an idea, but from a crack.

First, the world inside me broke, and then the sentences spilled out.

The real question is this: From which void was Lines of the Void born?

There was a single feeling that did not leave me alone for years:

Everything looked full, yet I felt, on the contrary, an inner emptiness.

The calendar was full.

The planner was full.

The screens were full.

A life woven with notifications, goals, and to-do lists…

But somewhere in the night, when everyone fell silent, when the lights went out, that thing I couldn’t name came back:

“When there is so much, why is nothing enough?”

Lines of the Void was born out of all those “not enoughs”.

This book is not the story of a success; it is the by-product of a search for meaning.

It is the book of a voice that swallowed the sentence, “Life should be lived to the fullest,”

yet kept whispering inside, “What does fullness even mean?”

I didn’t write to silence that voice.

On the contrary, I wrote to be able to stay with it.

When I looked at today’s human being – and I include myself in that – I saw this:

Someone who knows something about everything,

who is connected to everywhere, yet alienated from themselves.

There are thousands of things pulling on their attention at every moment;

yet almost nothing that truly deserves that attention.

A constant feeling of being “online”, constantly “busy”, constantly “not enough”…

And one day I realised:

The name of that great exhaustion was not really “having too much to do”.

It was an unnamed inner void.

This is exactly where Lines of the Void was born:

while I was trying to understand why a life that looked full sounded hollow from within.

I wrote this book for anyone who has ever asked themselves:

“Does my life really belong to me, or am I just acting out a script that has been put on me?”

One of the things that disturbed me most was this:

We live not with life itself, but with the representations of the life we live.

Money becoming more important than genuine need…

Time being reduced to “minutes” and “productivity”…

The self being broken into “profile”, “résumé”, “brand”, “image”…

For a long time I lived without realising this:

I was not living with life itself; I was living with life’s “map”.

The number in the bank was the map of real security.

The approval I received was the map that made me think I was loved.

Clinging to titles, roles, labels was the map that made me think I knew who I was.

But no matter how detailed it was, the map was not the terrain.

Lines of the Void was not written to crumple up and throw away the map, but so that, as you walk around with the map in your hand,

you might ask, “Where am I really, right now?”

Because one day, a very clear sentence passed through me:

“Reality is hidden in the silence beyond symbols.”

This book is a long walk following that sentence.

An honest answer to the question, “Why did I write it?”...

The cliché answer would be: “I wrote it to share what had built up inside me.”

No.

I didn’t write Lines of the Void in order to “share” it; I wrote it because I couldn’t bear it anymore.

Because I could no longer tolerate some of the lies I was telling myself…

Because I couldn’t breathe behind the masks where I was hiding with the phrase, “That’s just how I am”…

Because the fears and guilt I hid behind symbols and concepts,

my doubts, no longer fit anywhere…

I didn’t write this book to justify myself; I wrote it to stop running away from myself.

The answer to “Why did I write it?” is not actually an ornate sentence:

Because if I hadn’t written, this inner void would have swallowed me.

Writing was not a way to fill that void; it was the only way to look into it together.

Whom did I write this book for?

The official answer is clear: “I wrote it for the reader.”

The real answer is a little more bare:

First, I wrote it to the different ages of myself.

To my adolescent self who felt lonely for the first time.

To my twenties that kept saying, “Everyone else is moving forward; I’m stuck where I am.”

To my adult self who had lost themselves in roles and responsibilities…

And then I wrote to people I have never really met, yet know so well:

To those who stare at the ceiling before sleep and whisper, “What does all this mean?”

To those who look successful on the outside yet quietly feel ashamed, asking, “What am I even doing?”

To those who have taken shelter in spiritual phrases, yet remain very deeply “human” underneath.

To those who say, “I want to return to myself, but I don’t even know where to return to.”

If, while reading Lines of the Void, you ever feel, “It’s as if someone inside me wrote these lines,” know that:

I wrote this book for you.

But I didn’t write it to you “from above”; I wrote it from the same place as you, from the same edge of the void.

Writing this book was not just a matter of sitting down at a desk.

Sometimes I couldn’t write a single sentence for weeks.

Because every new chapter tested me first.

As I wrote about “the power of symbols”, my own symbols were taken from me.

As I wrote about “self and masks”, I had to confront my own masks.

As I questioned “time”, I had to face the moments I was stuck in in my past;

as I questioned “space”, I had to look at the places within me I could never quite reach.

Writing was not a theoretical exercise.

Each chapter first collided with some place in my life;

it broke something, tore something away from me, returned something to me.

That’s why Lines of the Void is not a sterile “philosophy book”.

It is a text written with the dust of life on it, with its regrets and its silences.

While writing this book, I realised this:

We have always seen emptiness as “a lack that needs to be filled”.

With a new relationship, a better job, a few spiritual techniques, a few motivational sentences…

But none of these forms of “fullness” ever completely silenced that inner sense of emptiness.

Because maybe the point was not to fill the void, but to learn to stand together with it.

Lines of the Void was written precisely for this:

to see emptiness not as something pathological, but as a natural part of existence.

Sometimes emptiness is not the place where life “goes to waste”.

Sometimes it is the place where all the noise withdraws and truth begins to whisper..

Of course, there is a technical starting date for the writing of this book.

But the real beginning is tied not to a calendar page, but to a moment:

to the day I came face to face with my own inner silence in a crowded place.

It was crowded around me.

People were passing by, screens were lit, cards were being tapped;

sounds, lights, ads, goals… everything was “a lot”.

And in that exact moment I heard this sentence from within me:

“Everyone here is chasing something. So what are you really chasing?”

I couldn’t answer.

That is where the first crack appeared.

Lines of the Void is a book of the questions that seeped out of that crack.

A text that believes not in the power of answers, but in the honesty of questions.

This book does not offer you an answer; it offers you a mirror.

This blog post is my answer, as bare as possible,

to the question, “Why did I write Lines of the Void?”

Because the emptiness inside me was no longer staying silent.

Because symbols and concepts

were making me hide from reality instead of carrying it.

Because I saw the exhaustion of the modern human being first in myself.

And because beneath that exhaustion, there was a search for meaning whose name had not yet been spoken.

If, while reading these lines, you feel you are facing your own inner void,

know that this text was not written to say to you, “Look, here is the solution.”

On the contrary, it was written to say, “Come, let us be silent together; let us look together; let us ask together.”

Lines of the Void is not the conclusion, but the first step of a journey.

And this blog post is the first backstage confession of that journey.