but I needed some quiet. a few nights later, I turned my phone off, ignored everyone. confusion burned a hole through my heart and I didn’t know what to do with myself except to get lost in the red district. I made all the wrong choices, blaming them on my trust issues. I am not sure, which was worse. I wished to disappear; wanderlust of the worst kind. fortunate fool made its way back into my life but it is different now. no more teenage tragedies. first rain of the season arrived earlier than usually; I welcomed the rain and the fresh air afterwards with gratitude. in a way I was hoping the rain would wash everything clean. not just the streets.

father and I spent a couple of nights at the roadside bar, sans tsu tsou playing in the background, thunder storming outside. french music, a hat and a little black dress. I wanted to move to paris that night. nights turned into mornings, days turned into weeks with an ease that I didn’t expect at the beginning of our story. but I also didn’t expect to feel homesick and lonely whilst being with someone who can offer me a world better than my own. I made myself feel guilty over nothing; I wanted to share everything but I was afraid. I spent most of the nights intoxicated, trying to drown my mind in darkness, trying not to feel anything. it made sense to no one and least of all, to me.

I am clinging onto my self-preservation ways as if it’s the only thing that matters in this world. but I am losing it. slowly, the grip is disappearing and I feel there is nothing else to keep close. I am struggling with the meaning of my own philosophies and way of life. only because we combine intimacy, laughter and comfortable silences in a way I’ve never known before. I am not sure what I am trying to prove to myself. that I can stand on my own? by yourself is not enough. maybe.

april started with a delicious dinner at the boathouse and a couple of bad photographs that I am keeping in one of my photography folders just for the memories. we were surrounded by the color blue and salty scent of the ocean. I was reminded of home and my mind kept drifting away. still, many details stayed with me. I wore red jeans that night. then the mattress on the floor and chocolate fudge cake with white english breakfast tea; our minds clouded with elation.

april fool’s day was supposed to be different but it wasn’t. if there is one thing I could change, it would be that day. cidade de deus was screened at joyce is not here. filmmaker was asleep in a drunken slumber on the couch. just like many years ago when I met him first. I sat quietly and waited for the film to finish. that night I walked around the streets with nowhere to go. I stayed out until the small hours of morning and crashed on a couch at someone’s place. someone I don’t speak to anymore. gypsy’s night, gypsy’s heart. I wrote in the morning at the bus station; the three palms in kowloon city. a paper cup with cheap coffee and seven dollar noodles for breakfast. I spent the last coins on a pack of cigarettes and walked home four kilometers; simply because I could and it did not matter. later that day I purchased chanel’s chance. simply because I could and it did not matter.

one night at joyce’s, a stranger said to me: keep writing. I sat on a high bar stool with a journal and a glass of red wine and thought this was the life I was supposed to live. in my mind I named the man Joe because he looked like one. strong american accent. he was surprised when I went to use the restroom leaving all of my belongings unattended. I said to him, it’s okay. we’re at joyce’s. the real joyce laughed at this and offered us a free drink. that night I was alone and didn’t mind at all.

all photography by my beautiful friend hannah grogan. you are my favorite and I love you. thanks for the gorgeous day and cupcakes.

april 22, 2012.

april twenty second is always a special day. I turned twenty one this year. I share my birthday with jack nicholson and that makes me happy. it was a beautiful day. it’d been a rainy week but on sunday it was just sunshine, blue sky and warm air. perfect summer afternoon. on that day it felt good to be alive.

march rolled in with a casual feeling about it. it simply invited itself in and I did not have enough time to write it all down. day in, day out. turbulences of the last few days seem to have subsided into separate corners and the air is easier to breathe now. but I am still cautious. evenings do not blend into mornings anymore. even though occasionally I still find myself eating a kebab out of a plastic bag at five o’clock on the corner of hollywood road. it’s just what I do sometimes and that particular sunday, everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

the flicker of yellow lamps, steps next to buddha bar. those first questions that eventually lead to something. I emerged in the morning, not really knowing what to expect but I was pleasantly surprised to find myself in surroundings that are everything but unknown to me. I waited for the sunrise at a street crossing, looking up. rain falling softly down, turning my hair moist and curly. the blinding darkness and deafening silence. things that do not exist and yet we feel them because we want to. ninety seven, seventy one. searching for an understanding, acceptance. anything that could make me feel less alone. alone vs. lonely. I am having one of those debates with myself; it’s one of those that nobody can win. silence of that sunday morning sealed all of my emotions into pavement. instead of guilt, I felt calm. it had been a long time, still. I expected nothing. five days went by.

filmmaker is a constant in a way that makes me feel grounded, less disoriented. almost like hearing a familiar voice after a long time of separation. despite being always in a room of full people I cannot help but feel isolated. it isn’t the question of belonging anymore, it’s more about where I would rather be. I like to sit down for a drink at joyce’s after work because we don’t even know how long they are going to be there now. it’s the regular cycle. every two years things change, places disappear, people move on. I like standing in the middle of it all. perhaps, I am moving along with everything else as well. at least I hope so.

I went back to the tennis court yesterday. on the other side of the net was someone I would least expect but it was fun. the weather cleared up. clear sky, sunny, warm. I felt a little bit more like my old self. high on life. I thought of my childhood, my grandmother. I sink every time I remember that it was her birthday the other day and I didn’t even talk to her. home is always going to be home but what happens when it starts to feel distant and foreign? I walked back to our apartment after dinner and thought of all the strangers I’d met on my three month trip across europe last year. the poet with a missing hand, a girl on the train from bratislava back to prague, people I had talked to on all those bus routes, the crazy bunch of future lawyers I befriended in a city park in zagreb, a boy from aruba who asked me where the closest post office was, the soccer player whom I’d noticed because of his ‘i heart singapore’ t-shirt. I had to talk to him; the idea that he might have been in hong kong as well excited me. I thought of them all and wished that’s how everything could be all the time.

careless but full of life.

a week went by. he wanted to see me but I wouldn’t let him. maybe I was selfish but I needed my own space. to recover, not only from the illness but also from the invisible wounds of the past few weeks. sleep was the only consolation that I needed and the british accent of downton abbey. yesterday I finally felt well enough to leave the house. the ever-lasting grey weather put me in a dreary mood. I took the train to his place; I walked slowly. the apartment was dark, the air in it stale and dump. his little sister sleeping in the next room, coughing faintly in her sleep.

we watched the cartoon network, which is what we always do every time I find myself on his couch, next to him, in a soft but firm embrace of his arms. watching tom & jerry makes me nostalgic but I appreciate those quiet moments, interrupted only with occasional laughter. it wasn’t until I saw his face that I realized how much I actually missed him. I thought of nothing.

the air grew colder and I stepped outside for a cigarette. darkness was falling down around me gradually and I wished there were stars on the sky. he came down after me. I leaned onto him, smelling his gentle cologne. we gazed at the nightly sky. I want to move somewhere where I can see the stars, I said. I felt him nod.

later in the evening we sat in our park, laughing. there were no arguments and we ate mcdonald’s. surprisingly they were playing jazz. I found this amusing and amazing at the same time and he just looked at me. you are crazy, he repeated. papa made fried bananas and soft potato mash with meat and beans, which they roll in balls as they eat. I like that it is their custom to eat with hands. they bit off pieces of chili peppers and talked in their language. instead of feeling as an outsider, somehow, I felt at peace. it gives me time to observe them. I am trying to learn.

it rained in the early hours of the morning and we fell asleep with the sound of rain pounding on the windows and roof. I felt calm. everything seemed to be as it should be.