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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.

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+ gorgeous afternoon glow. warm orange and deep yellow.
+ sexion d’assaut; I have been listening to them on repeat for the past few days.
+ nights when I actually manage to get some sleep.
+ a message from friend in australia. I feel blessed to know him.
+ slowly returning to my writing routine. I realized that not having a weekly word count makes me more productive.
+ words from the history of love.
+ feeling loved by friends when life gets hard.
+ cheese and olives as a midnight snack.
+ being the little spoon.
+ hearing a favorite song in a bar.
+ feeling creative.

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.

in april there was lots of rain, thunderstorms and lightning. endless cups of coffee. grey and brown shades. homemade dinner for the boy. I wrote a lot, slept very little. I turned twenty one on a sunday and spent the afternoon in a drunken haze with my favorite friends. I am hoping to spend more time reading and walking in the coming months. my daily routines have changed in a way and despite not being a morning person, I like the early hours a little more now. especially if filled with sunshine.

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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.