From Maria's diary, one night when she lacked the courage to go out, to live or to continue waiting for the phone call that never came:
I spent today outside a funfair. Since I can't afford to fritter my money away, I thought it best just to watch other people. I stood for a long time by the roller coaster, and I noticed that most people get on it in search of excitement, but that once it starts, they are terrified and want the cars to stop.
What do they expect? Having chosen adventure, shouldn't they be prepared to go the whole way? Or do they think that the intelligent thing to do would be to avoid the ups and downs and spend all their time on a carousel, going round and round on the spot?
At the moment, I'm far too lonely to think about love, but I have to believe that it will happen, that I will find a job and I am here because I chose this fate. The roller coaster is my life, life is a fast, dizzying game, life is a parachute jump; it's taking chances falling over and getting up again; it's mountaineering; it's wanting to get to the very top of yourself and to feel angry and dissatisfied when you don't manage it.
It isn't easy being far from my family and from the language in which I can express all my feelings and emotions, but, from now on, whenever I feel depressed, I will remember that funfair. If I had fallen asleep and suddenly woken up on a roller coaster, what would I feel?
Well, I would feel trapped and sick terrified of every bend, wanting to get off. However, if I believe that the track is my destiny and that God is in charge of the machine, then the nightmare becomes something thrilling. It becomes exactly what it is, a roller coaster, a safe, reliable toy, which will evntually stop, but, while the journey lasts, I must look at the surrounding landscape and whoop with excitement.
Writing is a form of art that knows no boundaries and no imperfection. It is limitless.