We spend our lives waiting for a grand sign, a lightning bolt that tells us it’s time to change. But what if the signal is already there, staring back at us in the mirror?

In this third episode of Identity on Stage, we cross another invisible threshold. We talk about the courage it takes to truly look at ourselves—not at the mask we wear for the world, but at the person shifting beneath the surface.

In this episode, we explore:

* The subtle art of recognizing the signals of an ending.

* The fear of seeing who we are becoming.

* Why “looking” is the most revolutionary act of self-preservation.

Identity doesn’t change overnight; it whispers before it screams.

Are you ready to listen?

What was the first signal that your old identity was no longer enough?

🎙️A narrative audio serie about identity and transformation.

🎧Episodes👇🏻

Identity On Stage

#identityonstage #redtulips #narrativepodcast

What if the hardest part isn’t starting over…but not knowing who you are while you do it?

The first week of a new life is never just about beginnings.It’s about confusion, disorientation, and learning how to move through a world that doesn’t feel yours yet.

This episode is a journey through uncertainty—through crowded streets, unfamiliar voices, and the silent pressure of having to figure everything out.

What does it mean to improvise when you don’t even know who you are yet?

Not to pretend.Not to perform.But to stay.

To breathe.To fall.To try again.

This is a story about loneliness, identity, and the invisible space where becoming begins.

🎙️ Identity on Stage is a narrative podcast about identity, emotions, and personal transformation—a space where we cross invisible thresholds and witness what happens when one version of us ends and another slowly begins to take shape.

🎙️Podcast: Identity on Stage A narrative audio serie about identity and transformation.🎧Episodes👇🏻Identity On Stage

📌👇🏻

The Yellow Door & The Yellow Door Part II

#identityonstage #redtulips #narrativepodcast #narrativepodcast

Some stories arrive in a different language.But what they touchis always the same…

This is not just a podcast.It’s a Door.

There is always a momentbefore everything begins to change.

and there is also moment when something we have always dreamed ofbecomes real.

And instead of feeling ready…we hesitate.

Episode 1 of Identity on Stage introduces The Red Door — the first threshold.

The moment in which a dream is no longer something we imagine,but something we can finally touch. And that is exactly when fear begins to speak.

Through memory, diary, and lived experience, this episode explores what happenswhen we stand in front of what we have always wanted… and realize that living itmight be the most difficult step of all.

For those who feel they are at the beginning.For those who are standing in front of their own Door.For those who are ready…but not yet certain they can step through.

🎙️Podcast: Identity on Stage A narrative audio serie about identity and transformation.🎧Episodes👇🏻

🎙️Identity On Stage

#identityonstage#redtulips#narrativepodcast

📌👇🏻

Thanks for reading 🌷Red Tulips! This post is public so feel free to share it.

Not through a big event.Not through something we can clearly name.

But slowly. Quietly. Almost invisibly.

Episode 0 of Identity on Stage begins here —in that suspended space where we are no longer who we were…but we are not yet who we are becoming.

This is not a Door yet.

It is the moment before.

Through theatre, writing, and the diary, this podcast explores the thresholds of identity —those invisible points where something inside us shifts direction,even before we understand it.

For those who feel that something is ending.For those who are about to begin.

🎙️Identity on Stage

#identityonstage#redtulips#narrativepodcast

Dear Dreamers,

I have thought a lot about who to address these words to —words that lie on a blank page, as if they were petals, or tears, or dreams. As if they were infinite —words and meanings.

“Dear Diary” never made me crazy...

“Dear Stranger”? Well… why should I care about someone who’s not even in my life yet?

It seems a bit of an exaggeration to me....

When, on the verge of giving up, considering writing “Dear Diary”, and choking down cold, stale noodles from the carton, I thought of you, dreamers.

I thought I could address my words to You.

I thought I could address this Journal to You. You, who found it, who opened it and gave yourself permission to dream —through words, through “meanings”, through dreams, that were once mine.

I have to say: you’ve been very brave.

So…

Rolling, Camera, Action!

I’m kidding… there’s no camera here, no action here. There are only my dreams, searching for life.

I have a question for you…

Have you ever found yourself in that moment where you are about to enter The Place of your Dreams, the place you’ve been imagining since you were a child?

No, maybe “imagining” isn’t the right term.

(Speaking of words and meanings…)

The place you’ve been dreaming of since you were a child. The place you’ve been fantasizing about, you draw every corner, every color, every floor tile in your mind since the day you were able to hold a brush.

You’ve painted the expressions of the people in it —the color of their clothes, the color of their eyes, the way they move, the way they talk, how they would make you feel: emotions, glances, smiles… even their thoughts.

Have you ever?

I, that of fantasies have collected thousands, turned that place into a work of art.

I, that of fantasies have forgotten millions, can still remember every noise, every scent, every feeling, every detail.

I, that of fantasies...

—I’m here, Dad, can you see me?!—

My hands are shaking, I cannot even hold on to the handle of the Red Door.

Everything feels heavy, heavy like thoughts drowning in my heart. The air is heavy. My legs are heavy. My head is heavy. But not my heart. My heart is light.

I’m trying my best to look graceful, confident and clever. I’ve always tried. I’ve never really succeeded.

The more I try, the more I fail.

Ladies and Gentlemen: the story of my life.

—You will get to know me… don’t worry, with time, and patience— Patience helps us to become adults, even if we don’t really want to be....—

Have you ever been in that situation when you’ve been invited to the "Event of the Year", where everyone looks so beautiful, so perfect, that if you were to see them the morning after, you would think you'd lost your memory because you wouldn't recognize a single one of them?!

You could finally fit in that dress, that long, black-and-white dress, the one so tight it’s almost impossible to breathe. You’re wearing high heels, or maybe those tight new shoes you just bought. You would love to look like a ballerina, but instead, what everyone sees is a mouflon stepping onto a burning wood floor. All eyes are on you as you make your grand entrance.

Your only thought is: “I Mustn’t fall, I mustn’t stumble, I mustn’t fall. I have to be careful not to look down while walking, but at the same time, I need to watch where I’m going, just from the corner of my eye… I’m supposed to lift my dress slightly with my hand, so I don’t trip...oh right, I also I have to remember to breathe… yes, breathing...”

Can you follow?

Your brain is going mad:

“Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it” and then again “All right… are you ready to taste the floor? mmm … it looks sooo yummy…”

What are the chances you can succeed, not fall, not smash your nose on the floor tiles? What are the chances, when your entire mind is fixated on the one verb you’re suppose to forget? Fall…

- Words are so extraordinary... the more you read them, the more you write them, the more you say them, the more they change their meaning. Fall... I wonder if I even spelled it right...-

What are the chances?!

Few.

Very few.

What happens is that your mind —being the control center of your whole body— turns “fall” into something real. And suddenly, it’s staring back at you. Those big blue eyes, staring right back at you —like that boy in high school, the one you liked. The one who showed up right in front of you —unexpectedly— while you were rushing back to class after the lunch break in the cafeteria, the one that makes you fast more than it feeds you. And no, you didn’t notice that half a sandwich was stuck on your face.

Just like that boy you liked.

“Fall” pops up in front of you.

Done!

Tripped.

You fell.

Oh yep, you did! You smeared yourself on the dusty floor tiles. It happened.

You. Smeared. On the floor. In front of all the party guests.

I am, this morning, terrified of falling and smashing my face on the floor.

Terrified of tripping over a language I don’t yet know —but pretend to. I smile and nod, even though they’re actually asking for my social security number. Smile. Nod. Gesticulate. Because yes, we do gesticulate a lot. And yes, we’re convinced our gestures are universal. No. Our gestures are not universal. I assure you. I’ve tried. It doesn’t work.

I am, this morning, terrified of tripping over all the people looking at me —because I see them looking. I know they’re looking at me. I know they’re judging. All of them. Or maybe not. Maybe they’re not looking at me. Maybe they’re not judging. Maybe… they’re just as scared as I am.

Who knows...

I-am-this-morning-terrified-of-falling-into-that-dream.

The dream I’ve always wanted to realize. And now that I’m here to do it, now that I can finally touch it, I’m afraid of losing it.

My dream.

I am afraid I won’t be able to live it.

The dream, so big, yet so small out here, in this ocean I've chosen to dive into.

—i’ve never been good at diving, you can ask around… i pretended I was good. My arms were in the right place. My legs looked okay… The ocean was there, waiting for me… okay…i’m ready… Nope, nope. I just belly-flopped. Yes, I’ve never been good at diving…—

That dream, the one never shared by the world where I thought I belonged, the world I’ve left behind. The world I’ve left without ever looking back.

The dream that was so big, so strong, it held me up when everything collapsed.

Suddenly.

—Because everything collapses, but always suddenly.

But not dreams.

Not my dream.

And here I am, in front of the Red Door, ready to start living my dreams.

For the first time.

In front of the Red Door.

The Red Door of dreams.

I’ve never liked Red — the color, I mean. Red has always been something I loathed.

Perhaps my mother is to blame. She’s never liked it, never worn Red clothes, never had Red furniture in the house, never had Red in her life.

Why? For the same reason I’ve never liked velvet striped pants.

There is no real reason — I just don't like them.

Just like I've never liked Red.

Until today. Until the Red Door.

The one that holds all my dreams.

—Okay, I’m going now.—

—Be warned, I have a habit of talking to myself. Get used to it…—

I’m ready.

I do it.

Slowly…

Slowly leaning my trembling hand on the Red Door handle.

I pull it toward me....

The sound of wood creaking under my feet,

that music,

those voices,

those colors,

those smiles.

That I’ve always imagined.

That I’ve always dreamt of.

They were all there, waiting for me .

Once I opened that Red Door,

I've found all my dreams,

there,

waiting for me.

And that’s how I fell…

“That’s how I fell

on the very first day of school.

I fell

into a Dream

into a Memory.

I stumbled,

and fell onto the floor.

I stumbled

and fell

into Life.”

🎧 Listen to the narrated version: “🎙️The Courage to Become”