or you called me up, maybe i wasn’t home

i walked around hong kong tonight feeling calm and peaceful. i walked three hours without stopping letting myself to be led by my legs without thinking. i feel as if i know the city. as if it lets me on its secrets it whispers it hums and it lets me listen without interruption. kilometers of streets and districts, each more familiar than the previous one. stopping for a cup of coffee made me realize that i have my own barista at four different starbucks. each period is being served a different type of coffee and lately i’ve found myself drinking only hot vanilla latte. but i’ve been thinking about vietnam a lot so i ordered caramel macchiato. a drink we drank every morning and evening for six days straight without skipping. i like having small insignificant traditions, which have a memory attached to them. but sometimes there are just burden.

i thought of the summer two years ago while walking star avenue having been reminded of a friend whom i haven’t seen for just as long. i wrote a letter to him just a few nights ago. i couldn’t sleep. i couldn’t write anything else. and tonight for the first time i actually thought of him. it’s strange how people disappear. it’s strange how we lose each other without saying goodbye because you never really know when the moment is going to come. the moment when you realize that we are gone. i wanted to watch elizabethtown but i couldn’t find it anywhere.

and the plague by albert camus — i prefer books written with a personal touch. the style of the plague, the chronology of events, descriptions of characters and places somehow prevent me from actually losing myself in the book. i read but i still notice the world around me. i can never like the book if i am not absolutely absorbed by it. but camus is not the only instance of me being unable to drift away. i wake up not remembering my dreams not knowing whether i was dreaming at all. three o’clock in the morning is the devil’s hour and i wonder why i am always conscious of this hour.

who said i lied because i never

i am slowly returning to the art of film. last night i’ve watched milk by gus van sant. it was getting late, the movie was released half a year ago and i felt like it’s time. if i hadn’t watched it last night i probably would have never gotten around to it and that would have been a mistake. i’ve returned to my old thoughts on people’s close-mindness. it makes me angry to look around and still see the same shit just like thirty years ago. because i don’t understand. it’s none of your business.

i’m staying inside, watching films, drinking coffee and saving photographs. i’m hardly writing. maybe a word or two every now and then. citizen kane is a strange film, but interesting enough to keep me there for almost two hours. there’s something about films from the late 30s and 40s that just make me stay at home the whole day and devote myself to observing special lights effects.

tomorrow i’m finishing reading the plague and i’m starting with if this is a man. and maybe i’ll even go down to the cinémathèque and watch slumdog millionare. because i still haven’t.

prague, 1968

dear ____,

do i even remember the last one of these? do you? how long has it been? a few weeks, a few months? and i haven’t seen you for much longer than that. do we remember who we are anymore? i’m searching the history of the world trying to find something that would suit my unrested mind. do you even know i’m coming? i am unable to recall anything from our last conversation. not a single word. to say that i miss you would be a cliché. i don’t. i miss the freedom the abstractness of our relationship. no definitions, no obligations. lately i’ve been trying too hard stuffing myself into a box of satisfaction. at the end i just stand outside, alone, looking up to the top. i’ve become more observant and even more ignorant at the same time. what does that make me?

there’s a quote about revolution. it reminded me of a letter i once wrote but never finished because the end was a tragic one. i remember that i described our relationship as a revolution. because all rules were broken and new were formed without any logic to it at all. a few months later the revolution had lost its meaning and importance. at this moment, right now, maybe just for a second, i thought it would be like if the significance of our actions could become more than what it is now. maybe if i lifted up the gates and talked to you things would get easier.

you don’t deserve the silence anymore. you probably never have. i’m talking. you win. i’m back to back, back to the beginning. i’m rethinking everything i have ever said about you. every insult that was sent in your direction (silently) i’m rethinking it and wishing i never said it because you probably don’t deserve it. you’re trying your best. you’re doing your best it probably could have been easy for you. for us. and i don’t blame you. not anymore.

i’m going to try and do my best. just give me a little bit more time.

the town itself is ugly

A revolution isn’t a gala dinner. It cannot be created like a book, a drawing or a tapestry. It cannot unfold with such elegance, tranquility and delicacy. Or such sweetness, affability. Courtesy, restraint and generosity. A revolution is an uprising, a violent act by which one class overthrows another.

i see myself in, say, fifteen years, in a flat in a big city, looking outside and seeing lights, hearing the city hum. i see myself around the world. traveling, writing and doing all the things i am doing now but in a larger measure and greater importance. behind them a girl was looking outside, and while she seemed to be completely uninterested in what was going on, at a certain point i could notice an imperceptible smile. i was going back home and i was sitting on the bus looking outside.

it’s thursday. i’m sipping coffee, i’m trying to make myself do something. read history, start writing, finish reading the novels. walk. write. see people talk to them.

but at the end of the day i still like my silence the most.

dubai, madam

i am in search for an inspiration. i need a new design, new ideas for my bedroom and new photography for art journaling. so far this year i haven’t really done a proper piece. most of today was spent reflecting on vietnam and surprisingly on dubai, especially since i discovered amazing photography by petrina tinslay. if you have a moment, take a look. i miss dubai. i miss the city, which i hardly even know because it’s a work in progress. nothing is finished there yet. it would be great to be able to go back one day.

i spend most of my time reading, writing, studying and listening to videos on the academic earth. examinations are coming up in may, including chinese, which i fear the most. i have only started chinese classes two months ago and i am nowhere near the ability to sit for any kind of test. thoughts occupy my mind, dreams and plans pile up as i search for ideal universities but each day ends with a reminder that there is a long journey ahead of me.

winter is still not entirely over in hong kong. walking around the streets is enjoyable more than ever.