Farewell Letter

The time has come for me to cast off, like a sailor guided by the stars, ready to set a course for new horizons.

This journey is about far more than where I am going. It is a promise I make to myself: to begin again, to welcome what lies ahead, while remaining true to my inner compass.

Most of you know that the need to change course had been growing in me for some time. An inner call, reaching back into a distant past, was drawing me towards a path, a refuge — something that felt, in its own way, like coming home.

The years I have spent among you have been an intense human adventure, marked by encounters I will never forget — and a few that took rather more out of me.

One of them remains especially close to my heart: Hasan, a refugee from Chad. He carried sunlight with him. A man of rare kindness, a healer of souls, a son of the desert whose wisdom seemed inexhaustible. Evil was something he seemed almost unable to comprehend. Yet beneath that apparent innocence lay extraordinary strength. Worn down by an endless procedure, however, Hasan came to see me one day and told me he had to leave, with no idea where he would go.

I would have given anything for Hasan. What I recognised between us went far beyond brotherhood. But he would never have accepted my help, perhaps out of modesty, perhaps on principle. Somehow, it seemed obvious that we had known one another for a very long time. A profound mutual respect bound us together, along with a closeness that nothing seemed able to break.

Our parting felt like a tear in the fabric of things — a silent mystery, and a grief I had to carry. I made myself a promise then: never again to grow attached to any of the faces this world placed in my path.

And yet, several years after he left, I decided to write to him — a message in a bottle cast out to sea — because somewhere deep within me I could still feel his presence.

After weeks of waiting, something extraordinary happened: Hasan wrote back. He was alive. He had returned home to his family, which now included three children.

That day, a weight I had carried for years finally lifted, and I understood that the bonds of friendship — whether woven in this life or another — can defy both time and distance.

Each of you, in your own way, has also left a mark on my journey. This humanitarian centre was never merely somewhere I worked. It was a community shaped by solidarity and shared challenges. What we built here — the conversations, the laughter, the difficult days — helped shape who I am. Every experience left its mark; every smile shared added something to the road I travelled.

Perhaps our paths will cross again, in another form: through a project we have yet to imagine, in some unexpected encounter along another road, or simply through the echoes of what each of us goes on to do.

I hope each of you continues to work with passion and conviction, and always finds a place where you truly belong. May you keep that inner strength which refuses to give up, that flame which gives meaning to what you do. May you trust your intuition, and keep the discernment to see through the illusions of this world.

For if darkness feeds on fear, and false light feeds on light itself, true light is nourished by love.

And love is not about looking at one another, but about looking together in the same direction.

Take care, guys.