new morning routines. early starts; I am usually awake by six o’clock. I pay attention to details, I slow my thoughts down. I get the coffee ready with less automatism, more devotion. it tastes better. a half an hour in the swimming pool. breathe in and out. I cleaned out my room, put all the books that I am currently in the middle of reading onto a single pile. a total of thirteen titles. I am determined to finish them by the end of this month. and then move onto other things. it’s time.

almost a month passed without me seeing the warm glow of his brown eyes but I didn’t care. we are not what we used to be, which has made our friendship easier. other things became important, other people. yet even after such a long time, he still bothered to translate the unknown words for me so I’d understand. you are like me, you know. he kept repeating the same over and over and I wondered whether he truly means what he says. because I know how easy it is to say words we don’t mean. I went back to my life the next day, thinking everything would eventually become clearer and I would not worry about every single detail. but I still do. I kept his words close. there was nothing else to be said.

wanderlust. I spoke to my other family in washington dc a couple of days ago. it filled me with nostalgia; with fear how fast time flies. the twins were barely three years old the last time I saw them. but now they are starting little school in the fall. I wonder how much I missed out on. how many mornings of fruit smoothies and nightly espressos with chocolate chip ice cream I could have had in between.

I miss that autumn too often.

-

from a journal; handwritten. a long time ago, yet not really.

we stayed out the whole night. late afternoon turned into evening; evening turned into midnight. followed by the usual club music of two and three am. but we got bored too easily. we sat in the park behind the seven eleven until four thirty. I remember needing to pee badly. he took me to a part of the square I’d never been in before. it was like a different planet; I imagined we were in the middle of the jungle, lost. except for the bank of china glowing above us. we played sexion d’assaut on repeat. it fascinates me the way he perfectly knows the lyrics to each song. for the time first time we were comfortable because we were finally honest with each other. he looked at me, realized and understood; he wasn’t angry. we stopped fighting three months ago; everything became easier. after five, the light started changing. slowly. it is always just a feeling first. sunrise filled the sky with blood red and deep shades of pink and orange. I had a camera with me but decided to remember with my eyes only. it started raining and I took my flip flops off. jumped in shallow puddles of water; I was soaked to my knees. my hair dripping wet in a couple of minutes. he brushed loose hair off my cheeks; put his ray bans on. lil wayne. I walked barefoot around the square with a tiny flower behind my ear, gazing up. everything was still and silent. then the sky cleared into sharp colors and cloudless emptiness. I heard the first train arrive underneath us. we slowly danced waltz; he fooled around pretending to be a ballerina. I dug up a bunch of coins from the bottom of my tote bag for a can of coffee; drank it while sitting cross-legged on the train station, water splashing on the floor from the bottom of my trousers. I thought of last summer; my head aching from the lack of sleep.

-

elephant juice versus elephant in the room.

and neither means anything.

six outtakes from the last few days.

1. incredible light at cafe initial from the other day. 2. the perfection of a view yesterday morning. 3. noticing shadows during my walks around sheung wan. 4. rasta, red converse, favorite pair of jeans 5. sunset through my drapes just as I woke up from a nap. 6. a bout de souffle; adoring the sun lines on my wall.

something about the last few days reminded me of that october a few years back. I was alone in the city, just like now, waiting. waiting every minute of every day because putting down words of uncertainty became unbearable. but everything else is different. I am trying to focus on the little things. one day a time. I still haven’t figured out what’s the opposite of disappearing. I am thinking in fragments, my thoughts scattered around the harbor. floating in the air; I am never sure what it is I am thinking until many days later when the pieces come together. it doesn’t make sense, of course, it doesn’t. you don’t have to tell me. I cannot leave the city, I am back to exercising the art of escapism. writing lists of foreign words because it makes me feel like I am closer to understanding of my surroundings. two different worlds; living through experiences. the words burned a hole in my mind. I couldn’t sleep and stayed up all night, searching for an excuse. what do you do when things that once used to be enough, more than enough, don’t even satisfy you anymore? what do you do when you lose yourself? what can you do? I am the most miserable person I know. I cannot separate myself from his words. I wish I could.

two hottest days of the year have been replaced with rain and heavy clouds; they linger over the buildings of the financial district. they’re less of a protection, more of a warning. often I find myself gazing in the direction across the harbor as if there is something hidden in the streets. but there isn’t. it’s just my life and those endless nights of passing hours between drinks and slurred conversations. I remember the last time, it was raining heavily and raindrops fell into my glass repeatedly. I wrote in my journal; words penned in the dark interior of joyce’s. consistency of the importance of that little bar worries me sometimes because it feels like we will never find even a remotely similar place to waste our nights at. wasted youth. but I regret nothing. I am thinking about the city of north, wondering where will the next months take me. everything feels uncertain; I am stepping into a big unknown, wearing my heart on the sleeve. but there are no hopes, nothing. I only hope that I will be able to make the right decision. I am trying, believe me, I am trying.

the other night I ran into the french boy and I was incredibly glad not to had been wearing the ‘I heart french boys’ t-shirt. I am already in enough trouble as it is. I am afraid I don’t know how to stand on my own anymore. but every once in a while I force myself to, just so I make sure that I still can.

I wish we learnt how to trust each other.

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the earthy tones of this place inspired me to sit down for more than four hours and write with very few interruptions. besides working on an online portfolio after planning it for many long months, I am keeping myself creatively occupied with a couple of short stories and articles that I would like to have published online. maybe even in print. these thoughts and a couple of phone calls from london have placed me into a continuous state of dreaming and planning of what could be. I am trying to focus on the boundaries of reality but recently it has gotten increasingly harder. happiness is for idiots.

being inspired but not enough grounded or down to earth to actually sit down and write is worse than not being able to write at all. having to force myself to write is something that can ruin the words even when the idea is good. the first rule to writing is to write. turning off the internet also helps. so does putting my phone in a silent mode. comfortable chair, ambient music and a good cup of coffee are sweet pluses. I have often wondered what others need to feel creative. is it their life in general or just a particular moment? can you teach yourself to be creative? can you force yourself to write?

sometimes words are not enough. sometimes I need to step out of my comfort zone and do something I’ve never done in order to have something I’ve never had before. repetition of the same mistakes has gotten me nowhere except for being bitter and notoriously sarcastic in the least appropriate moments. the notion of having no expectations versus being willing to have your heart broken keeps me up at night. and so on.

I wrote the list, thinking it would somehow put things into perspective. but no. days went by. I tried hard to distance myself but the only thing I accomplished was to lose words in the process. I wrote a lot but most of it wasn’t for ‘me’. I kept pushing the emotions into a bottle, pretending none of it exists. and then it blew up right in my face. I turned twenty one on a beautiful sunday afternoon surrounded by people who matter. for a moment it became important to be aware of how good it is to be alive. because I was truly grateful. reality. something. I tried to forget about it but couldn’t. another elephant in the room. this time it’s mine only. I am slowly getting used to it even though I probably shouldn’t. I shouldn’t get used to any of this actually.

I put his music onto my disc, hoping it would somehow compensate for the fact that I barely spend any time with the family. the little one is growing so fast. every time I see her, she looks different. I don’t know why I feel like I am missing out on something. they’re not even my people. they’re not even what I want. most of the time. beautiful nights of peaceful sleep during thunderstorms were replaced with a couple of sleepless ones. short term insomnia made a comeback after an emotional meltdown at the most inappropriate moment. it all came back with a single touch and I couldn’t stop thinking. silent panic attack. my brain working thousand miles an hour. memories have turned into a blur; there’s no point in dealing with it now. I can only hope it will go away on its own. I miss those careless nights spent around the gold buddha figurines and plastic cups filled with cheap Chinese liquor. I miss not caring. I miss the illusion of having forgotten.

I stopped writing letters after the night of momentous consequences that were symbolically marked by buena vista social club and the single tennis ball on the floor. I am not sure whom to write the letters to.

I want to be sure.