I hesitated for a long time to write about this. After all, I was raised in a Catholic family, and although my faith is not a dogma, but a living, warm conversation with God, some topics for us... well, let's say - are not discussed over dinner with my aunt. But inside, to be completely honest, there is one idea that comes back to me again and again.

I would really like to one day - just for myself - dress up as a nun.

Yes, I know. It sounds strange. Perhaps, even a little bit blasphemous. But I am not talking about religious uniform as an object of worship or ridicule. I am talking about my inner conflict between holiness and femininity. Between piety and corporeality. Between what I should be and who I sometimes feel myself to be.

Have you ever seen how beautifully a monastic habit can sit? Informal, almost theatrical. Black, smooth, with a snow-white yoke at the neck, a light hood hiding the hair - and at the same time emphasizing the neck, cheekbones, eyes. As if you have fenced off the whole world with a curtain - and only you remain, silent and great, like a statue of the Madonna. But inside you there is not a serene emptiness, but a heat hiding under the fabric. Prayers intertwined with desires. Innocence - in heels and stockings. I don’t know if I am explaining clearly. I feel ashamed of these words, but also... sweet.

I'm not thinking about this because I want to shock. Quite the opposite. I want to be alone, in the semi-darkness. In such an outfit. Without an audience. Just to feel this strange combination: modesty and audacity. Humility and inner fire. To understand why it is the prohibition that makes everything so attractive. After all, you must admit, we don't always want what we are allowed to do. We want what excites.

You know, I once confessed this to a friend. She laughed and said: "You're something, Lana!" But I'm not joking. For me, there is something almost sacred in this. It's like a confession. Strange, of course. But honest. I'm not going to offend the feelings of believers - I am a believer myself. It's just that I can't always be who they see me. I would like to be, at least for a couple of hours, who no one expects me to be. Brave. Seductive. Silent and at the same time screaming skin. Fabric hugging your hips when you move slowly. Belt at the waist. Breathing, not in tune with prayer.

Why the image of a nun? Maybe because it is as far away from everything secular and worldly as possible. Or maybe, on the contrary, because it is the pinnacle of control. And I want to give it up. At least in fantasy.

I will probably never decide to do this seriously. Well, you understand, in our world, any step to the side is already a reason for a label. And I have enough of other people's expectations. To be a "good girl", not to attract attention, not to play with fire. But sometimes I think - what if I try on this image? Not for eternity. Just for an evening. In a room where there is no one. Where you can allow yourself to be weak, daring, imperfect.

If you read this far - thank you. I thought I would just speak into the void. But maybe someone will understand. You, too, probably have such thoughts that you hide deeper than a diary. Maybe they are not about nuns, of course (I am a little special after all). But something of your own. Something forbidden, what you dream about, even if you know that in reality it is unlikely to happen.

And I would like that someday, someone - would not judge me either. Even if I decide to play this stupid, sinful, beautiful game.

Just Lana Banana