I would love to be one of those visionary people who coin new words that become so popular that they even have their own verbal conjugations. I think about how many articles have been written about having FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) for its English acronym, or what amounts to the same thing, that fear of missing out on something – wanting to be in the thick of it? – and I think I need a new word to define how I feel this summer. According to the consulted sources, that is, the internet, the thing would be between GOMO (Greed Of Missing Out) and ROMO (Reluctance On Missing Out); on the one hand, wanting to be everywhere, but at the same time not worrying too much about missing things. A week ago I ran out of my mobile phone and for five days I didn't go on social media, nor did I send messages until I got home and sat in front of the computer, as if it were 1999 and I had left Messenger connected. Now that I've revealed my age and my inclination to use Anglicisms, I can also share that I wish I had got my phone back a week later, because then I wouldn't have seen what absolutely everyone – except me – seems to be at a festival, watching my favorite artists. Badly recorded videos with shaky zooms, photos with aesthetic aspirations of a dripping beer, hugs, bracelets, and the feeling again that everyone was there except me. Yes, I know that's not the case, but forty Instagram stories will make you believe it. I'm not there, because this is my second summer as a mother and, moreover, I'm expecting my second and walking two steps in this suffocating heat makes me more anxious than missing Florence + The Machine's set at MadCool. Now I've swapped my festival summers for afternoons by the village pool, bike rides at 7:00 AM, reading stories, and making homemade ice cream with watermelon, mango, and Greek yogurt. My Instagram is a combination of baby-led weaning recipes and people living in the Estrella Damm advertisement.And it's okay. Because I've also lived through all of this. In fact, I'm metaphorically crying in this first column now, because hormones have given me the superpower to be honest with all the strangers reading this column, but, in reality, this choice is mine and a couple of weeks ago I was at a concert and soon I'll be at a festival, even if it's a thousandth of what I used to do. Hence my need to create a new acronym that defines that I want to be in the broth and in the slices, but that I am also more comfortable than ever in my new skin, aware that this moment is my cardinal point where I had to be.This dichotomy not only applies to the fact that I'm not at festivals, but it goes a little further; the right balance to make me anxious from time to time. To this new identity, added to the many others I've built over thirty-something years, I now add that of being a mother. Furthermore, you want to be one of those present mothers, who makes healthy meals in all the colors of the Pantone palette, who has wooden Montessori toys, who plans weekends with activities that enrich the life of the child and the whole family, and one who doesn't lose her head when almost nothing she had planned goes as she thought. But you don't want this new identity to take up all the space of your being; as if Venom wanted to take absolute control over Eddie Brock. Curiously, this Marvel character is also a reporter, so all of a sudden I look at him as if he perfectly understood the fragility of this alien-person/child-mother symbiosis. Because, beyond concerts, there is something else that also beats in this invisible space, and that is time – and quality time – to dedicate to doing the things that define who you are. I am a journalist. And even though I write infinitely less than I would like, I will always introduce myself as such. Writing has been part of my identity for as long as I can remember. This is a double-edged sword, because at the same time it frustrates me when I see all the concerts I covered, the pace of interviews I did, and the three projects I used to juggle. Perhaps this summer — and surely the next and the next — I will attend far fewer festivals than I would like and, instead, I will have learned a handful of cool recipes made with broccoli and zucchini. And I am aware of it. Perhaps I will never write as much as I used to again. Or maybe I will. Sitting with my laptop on the sofa, taking advantage of the duration of a summer nap and before heading to the village pool, I seize this moment of honesty and vindication of all my personalities to introduce myself. Because, beyond all the women I am, I will always be a journalist.

There are ideas that are born in an office. Others, at a coffee break. And then there are ideas that appear when someone has been thinking about the same question for too long and decides that, instead of continuing to grumble alone, it is better to gather people and have them discuss it in public. The conference "Majorcan identity in the 21st century: continuities, fractures and narratives" undoubtedly belongs to this third category.The event, organized by Professor Ernest Carranza at Can Oleo, in Palma, brought together diverse but very complementary profiles. Thus, Miquel Sbert and Andreu Ramis reflected on the role of traditions in a society in constant transformation; Mercè Picornell offered a particularly suggestive view on new ways of participating in Mallorcan identity; and finally, Antoni Janer coordinated a round table.As often happens with good conversations, the conferences did not end because the arguments had been exhausted, but because the custodians reminded us that, no matter how much we discussed the future of Mallorca, the building closed at a certain hour. And perhaps this is the most important detail of all. Because, beyond the lectures, what was really worthwhile was the conversation.It had been a long time since I had enjoyed a public debate so much. There were few of us, yes, but perhaps that was part of the charm. It wasn't one of those talks where, before sitting down, you already know exactly what they're going to tell you and where everything ends up being a sum of parallel monologues. Something else happened here. That literary atmosphere, which is becoming increasingly difficult to find, was palpable: a space where you can disagree without needing to turn any difference into a trench.I also have to say that I also did my bit with a communication. It was titled Relatos en disputa: history, symbols, and identity in contemporary Mallorca. My intervention started from a very simple idea: identities do not arise spontaneously, but are a social construction. And, precisely for this reason, they are also an object of dispute. In Mallorca, this dispute is visible everywhere. In street names, public signage, at school, on commemorative days, or in the presence of institutional symbols. That "La Balanguera" plays in a supermarket. That a Mallorcan influencer moves naturally through social networks. That a popular festival is perceived as one's own by people of very different profiles. It is here, in these apparently insignificant gestures, where cultural hegemonies are built. This struggle is not divided into two perfectly defined sides. Between Spanish nationalism and Catalan nationalism, we could say. Identity debates, rather, move on a scale of greys. Because reality is much more complex than television often suggests. We all know that in Mallorca you can claim the Catalan language without questioning the current institutional framework; that you can feel Mallorcan and Spanish at the same time; or that you can defend greater self-government without being an independentist, to say something. Deep down, the debate is very simple: who has the capacity to define what Mallorca is?However, it is important not to lose perspective, because there is a fact that is difficult to refute: despite all the nuances, Spanish identity in Mallorca enjoys an enviable health. Its great triumph has been to achieve that, for a large majority of the population, feeling Mallorcan and feeling Spanish are not conflicting identities, but perfectly compatible ones. As historian Ferran Archilés has pointed out, the Spanish national project has not only not failed, but has demonstrated a remarkable capacity for integration, incorporating regional diversity within a narrative widely accepted as natural. And here the big question arises: where is Mallorcan identity heading? The answer is that no one knows for sure. But we do know one thing: identities are not immutable, but rather evolve as societies do. To think that the Mallorca of the future will be exactly the same as today's is as naive as believing that the current Mallorca is the same as that of fifty years ago. What I think could happen is that a 'light' Majorcan identity emerges. Apparently less ideologized, capable of integrating an increasingly diverse society without renouncing a part of the culture and traditions. In this new context, it must be assumed that this new society will inevitably include Majorcans of diverse origins who only speak Spanish. The question that remains to be resolved, in my opinion, is whether these new identities will be reduced to a purely folkloric expression or whether, on the contrary, they will transform into a collective project capable of engaging new generations. This, probably, will depend on what we Majorcanists are capable of doing. 

Being from Palma doesn't It's not easy at all. The worst part is that I spent half my life I used to think that being from Palma was the easiest thing in the world behind closed doors and the most complicated outside (if your world is Mallorca, of course). Until, luckily, a moment came when I grew up and, above all, started surrounding myself with people who weren't from Palma. Then they showed me that 1) I was living in a parallel reality, and 2) Being from Palma is only easy if you never leave Palma.

Former tennis player Rafel Nadal warned this Tuesday about the use of his image and voice generated by Artificial Intelligence (AI) on some platforms to carry out misleading advertising or financial investment proposals.

In the 1960s, some islanders were hid by their parents. This is the case of 60-year-old inquero Jaume Payeras Alzina. "My three siblings and I were spoken to in Spanish as children. Both my father and mother are very Mallorcan. The decision not to teach us Catalan was largely his own doing. He came from a shoemaking industrial family and thought that Spanish was more dignified. My mother, who was the daughter of a dentist, was a bit strange, but not at that time. It was a matter of social status."