On this, our sixteenth-year and eleven-month anniversary,* I want to clarify something about the words I share here. My posts are not meant as virtue signaling, nor are they intended to showcase any supposed holiness on my part. They are, first and foremost, a way for me to work through my thoughts and struggles. If others find value in them, that is a gift. I write just as much for myself as for anyone else.
The truth is that I am deeply uncomfortable when people compliment me on being “holy” or “virtuous”—if they only knew how far that is from the truth. I am the first to admit that I am a sinner in desperate need of God’s mercy and forgiveness. I do not stand above anyone. If I appear “very religious,” it is only because so many around me are terribly irreligious. It is like being the tallest dwarf in the room—hardly a testament to stature.
I do not write for accolades. Proof of this is simple: I write under a pseudonym. If I craved praise, I would attach these words to my real name and seek recognition. Yes, it is nice to be appreciated, but praise never sits comfortably with me. If affirmation—or worse, popularity—were the goal, I would not be doing this, but something more fashionable instead.
I also do not write for money. I haven’t made a penny from any of this. It is a labor of love, freely chosen. In a world obsessed with monetization and branding, I am content to remain nameless, faceless, and unpaid. The poverty I embrace is by choice, for the sake of something higher.
This work is not about virtue, vanity, or profit. It is about honesty, struggle, and a desire to cling to truth, even when I fall short. Any benefit to others is something for which I am grateful. But understand this about me: I am not a saint, a sage, or a prophet. I am simply someone stumbling forward, trying to give form to what I believe and seek to live out.
Sixteen years and eleven months of writing, reflection, and labor. No fortune, no name—only continuity. Imperfect yet persistent. That is enough.
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, February 21st, Feast of St. Peter Mavimenus
*As seventeen is considered unlucky in Duosiciliano culture, it seems fitting to pause here just short of it for a small celebration. The superstition goes back to the Roman numeral XVII, which can be rearranged to spell VIXI—“I have lived”—a phrase tied to death. For this reason, rather than tempt fate, we’ve decided to mark our sixteenth year and eleventh month of writing with joy and gratitude, leaving the ominous 17th for others to brave.
