Sometimes we architects have believed so much in the role of unattainable and heroic genius —that someone designed for us— that we have ended up forgetting that child, that girl, who painted chalk houses on the ground. Who always asked why. These texts, compulsive, indignant, serious and funny, written from a deep love for architecture, are part of a constant reflection on the discipline, understood as a complex ecosystem that goes from politics to fashion, from universities to studios where a whole generation of young professionals rows to the rhythm of the galley, from our commonplaces — to laugh at, accomplices— to our darkest ghosts —to get rid of, together.