THE GIFT

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THE GIFT

A small space to accompany the growth of The Gift. Not a production log, but a place to capture what lingers between the lines: silences, hesitations, fragile truths. I write only when something insists on being spoken, not because the calendar demands it.
Alex Godoy

The impulse

Sometimes, searching for something that would give me back the push to start a life with purpose, I would head to a park for hours to feel, in the touch of nature and its sounds, a calm that let me be alone with my thoughts. I wanted to find a message in my mind—one of those signs we believe God will give us in a miraculous or even magical way, if the term fits. I would take my bicycle and, sometimes, pedal for more than three hours. I came face to face with my reflections and, deeper still, with pain and sadness. Pedaling made me scream on the inside, releasing everything I was feeling. My mind filled with thousands of

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Un escritorio improvisado junto a una ventana con cortinas, donde hay una laptop encendida, una taza de café y una cámara fotográfica sobre la mesa.
Alex Godoy

The Process

When you find yourself immersed in solitude, waiting for a new conversation with that person who had always been by your side, only to discover that they’re no longer there—that they left ahead of time, without explanation—your life starts to feel like a movie without a script, with no clear scenes to keep the story going. Everything turns into flashbacks, flashforwards, sequels, and prequels; a jumble of images that unsettle your peace and sometimes tempt you to give up. That’s how I felt for a long time. But in the midst of that confusion, He appeared once again: my savior, protector, pilot of my life, and director of my story—God. With His love, He embraced me and said: “I am

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“Luz contenida entrando por una cortina; quietud que sugiere presencia y ausencia.”
Alex Godoy

How The Gift Was Born?

The Given was born out of a need for release: a need to put into words what runs through the head and heart in difficult moments. In the midst of acts of faith and dreams, I found the way to narrate the heaviest part of my story. Sometimes we long to say so much, yet in daily life we don’t find whom to tell it to: maybe we’ve already exhausted many people with our story; maybe some think we should “move on,” or simply don’t know what to say. I’ve found myself at that point more than once. One day I sat on my balcony, opened my laptop, and began to write everything I felt. Beyond working as a kind

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