On a November evening of 1985 whilst riding his bike home, Francesco, the middle son of my maternal grandparents, was hit by a car and died instantly. He was 31, and I was about 10 months old. Growing up with my grandparents, I rarely heard them talking about him or what had happened. 

I had always assumed the taboo was the death of a young son. A few years ago, however, after the death of my grandparents, I found a journal written by my grandfather about Francesco, that opened up a more complex reality. The journal was a detailed report of what turned out to be the last two years of my uncle's life and the most acute period of his mental illness and depression. 

Although my personal connection to this story is central to the work, it seems that the journey of a young man in his 30s experiencing the onset of schizophrenia can also provide a wider perspective on our quest for identity; a metaphor, maybe tragic, of the struggle each individual must face to form and reform, cohabiting with the other, outside and inside oneself.