Anyone who has studied Library Science knows that classifying is never a simple task. And I had a classification problem that reminded me of my lessons on Paul Otlet.
Here, in this space, there are scientific texts, essays, accounts, recipes…
And there are those that simply do not fit into any of these categories. It was while trying to organize this blog that I found a word from Modern Greek that seemed to have been created precisely for these texts:
Meraki.
There is no exact translation.
Generally speaking, the word describes the act of doing something by putting a part of yourself into it. It is dedicating time, attention, and affection to what you create.
It is cooking with care. It is embroidering a detail that perhaps no one will notice. It is writing because the idea simply needs to find a place to exist.
The texts gathered under this seal are born this way. They are not scientific articles.
Nor do they intend to convince anyone of a particular idea.
They are reflections, memories, restlessness, and small discoveries that arise along the way. Often, research begins exactly like this.
First a question appears. Then curiosity.
Only later come the books, the articles, and the references.
Not every question needs to end up in a scientific journal. Some exist only to record a moment in life. That is the space Meraki occupies.
Here, personal experience is the starting point. Sometimes a walk.
Sometimes a song. A conversation. A childhood memory. A scent drifting through the kitchen. A scene observed through the window.
These are texts written without the pretense of concluding a subject.
They are invitations to think together. This seal reminds us that creating is also a form of care.
And, every now and then, some words simply ask to exist even before they have found all their references.
It is for them that this seal exists.
Meraki.
Writing with presence. Writing with care.
Writing by putting a little of your own soul into what remains.
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