see you next year, kid


it was nice knowing you, 2009.

I meant to write sooner. I wanted to. but there was no time. no words made up in the process this time. everything just came as it was. there was no time to think about anything. not even the consequences. and I guess that’s how I can describe 2009. no time time to think about anything. things happened, people came and went, some things stayed with me, others were lost. I wrote very little this year. I literally came up with no new stories. a few poems once in a while and endless essays on topics, which do not interest me. writing is one of the things I will definitely focus on in the upcoming year. I think I can trust myself with that one.

I am not sure where to begin. the year started off amazingly. friends from croatia stayed with us for a few days. I remember coming home at six in the morning listening to leonard cohen’s in my secret life. I was sitting on the floor feeling something I wanted to feel for the rest of the year. I felt peaceful, content, comfortable in my own skin. it was a special night. in the later weeks my cousin from slovenia came to hong kong, it was valentine’s, we were at maria’s. I still remember the red color of the singer’s jumper, and his smile when he sung my cherie amour for me for the millionth time. I thought I could finally be happy. it feels like centuries ago. a few weeks later the band fell apart and I stopped going there. because it was too hard. too different. I missed it. I spent a lot time with people I cared about. I made new friends, kept the old ones even closer, because I remembered what corleone said. I am still working out where my enemies are because I am too blind to see them. I turned eighteen I celebrated with my family and a very special friend from belgrade. I traveled to vietnam, fell in love, wrote a letter and then fell out of it. that trip changed certain things for me. the way I see the world, the way I see kids and everything I have. sometimes it feels like it’s rubbing off, but it doesn’t really take much to be reminded the way I felt in that hotel room. it doesn’t really take much. spring break was really a spring break. as soon as I recovered from the broken heart I met someone who would make things even worse by leaving too soon and without a goodbye. I never forgot that night, yet I wish I could. not because it wasn’t worth it, but because I couldn’t stand on my own long after that. then came summer. I slowly began to forget old things.

summer healed my broken heart. in a way. I went back to europe, back to places, which are familiar and also serve to entertain me for a little while before I go back to my chaos. I spent a night with my friend after two years of not seeing his face. that night completely stands out. it’s beautiful when friendships are created, but even more so when old friendships are made firmer. nothing makes me as calm and peaceful as knowing there is a person in this world whom I can refer to as the one. everything else is irrelevant. I spent a few nights in prague, in the city that makes me angry and happy at the same time. I miss the people there it’s always only worth it because of certain people. I went back to my grandparents’ and the house, which is truly my home. I miss sitting on my terrace, listening to sounds of the wind and birds with a glass of red wine. I always remember the light and atmosphere of those evenings, whenever I am a little homesick. we went to turkey for only a few hours before our flight back to the real asia. it was an amazing day. I had breakfast in zagreb, dinner in istanbul and lunch in hong kong. I fell in love with that part of the world because it lies on the bridge between the part that I call my home, the balkans and asia, which is my actual home. there is a mixture of both there and to me it felt like being somewhere where I really belong. hong kong was hot and humid, but I didn’t mind. august was a month marked by constant migraines and pains, which are not so unusual, but this year it was particularly bad. it seems to have faded away now, but not really. I don’t like august. the two of us, we don’t really get along.

every year when september comes along, things change. the year seems to speed up, everything becomes different. I like september. I listened to deliah a lot. and everything they have to say about being far away from the places, which are close to your heart. I started writing again. it was a quiet year. I seem to have these periods of writing and silence. they also come at the same each year making me feel uneasy about myself. but I guess I’ve gotten used to it by now. and then there was america. two weeks of discovering and learning. one of the happiest periods of this year. I met jay-z in the middle of greenwich village. empire state of mind. I loved everything there. I am missing it every single day. after having returned to hong kong I fell into this strange melancholy, depression. something. I am not sure. days passed me by, they swallowed me. I started spending a lot of time around SoHo. many nights were spent at bulldog’s with michael and the rest of the group. there was a lot of new people, too. I forgot about everything. just lived the life the way it came to me. then I met the Columbian, talked to him a few times, now I don’t even know where he is. I wrote him a letter. I wrote a lot of letters in the last months. but I am still struggling with the words. with emotions. of course. it’s my own little thing, my pathos.

and then came winter. humidity went away I took out my scarves and cardigans from the bottom of boxes where I should be putting my old notebooks and books instead. but I don’t. there was a lot of people in the last two months of the year. most of them meant nothing to me but it was still nice to see them, to take them around. of course, I finished my junior year. not as successfully as I should have. everything went downhill for a little while but I picked myself up, put the pieces back together. or maybe somebody else did. I am not sure. friends from the north came to hong kong, and although I tried to keep my distance during the first moments, I soon gave in. I wear my heart on the sleeve, that’s my problem not anybody else’s. I wouldn’t want to live in any other way. I don’t regret anything, except for the emptiness now. I always managed though. and I always will. there’s nothing I regret from this year, but there’s a lot of mistakes to be learned from. 2009 was a very good year and things will get even better. hopefully. big decisions and steps lie ahead of me and I am going to need every single molecule of strength and willingness that I can muster to make them happen. but I look forward to it.

bring it on, 2010.

three one nine


last night joyce is not here showed a screening of le dernier metro. it must have been a few years since I last watched this film. watching it again while standing on the empty peel street, staring at the white paper screen I felt as if I was standing in the middle of the world. I think sundays will be spent only there, from now on. I went back to soiree for the second night in row. yesterday was special, a little better than other nights. not as crowded, more interesting people and the music was purely for us. and my cherie amour for me. some time I would like to explain what this song means to me, but right now it doesn’t really matter. I am just enjoying the present. many words were said even more crossed my mind without being voiced. but I didn’t care. I got used to it. to the silence of the night and empty streets, catching the last train home simply because there is nothing left to be said or felt. I could have stayed longer but every extra minute would make my own memory less powerful. when it comes to remembering certain things, it’s easier to forget them. so I walked away.

honestly? i don’t really understand camus


dear ____,

it’s already afternoon. I woke up early even though I came home at four in the morning last night. when I finally went to bed, there was already a strip of light on the horizon and I knew it was time to forget about this world for a few hours. I couldn’t really sleep. the night has brought a lot to me. I am not sure. I was thinking about lots of things, I guess I had one of those nights when I couldn’t stop my thoughts from being out there. but it’s not that hard and it’s not that complicated. I was thinking about los pasos perdidos but couldn’t remember what it was called. I tried to explain my feelings but I was too far away and couldn’t keep track of myself. I wished I could be somewhere. somewhere in south america, lost on a motorcycle with a small dog in my backpack. what is simplicity?

it’s strange how I remember every single word from our conversation. it’s strange how I keep replaying it in my head and almost flinching when I remember something I said. why did I mention camus in the first place? I am not too sure. I got swallowed by the mysteries of existentialism its questions and my own which are directed against it. and you’re probably right. I am too young to be thinking about any of that. I should be somewhere with my friends. but I like this better. why? because I hate the drama around me. too much drama everywhere and I can’t stand it.

I wish I knew more about you. about your broken heart, scars and tattoos, and why you ended up in a city like hong kong. I wish we could talk about film, the art and colors of your native land, about the people there. I was always drawn to that part of the world, even though people keep telling me I would never survive there. not even one day. maybe it’s for the wrong reasons. I don’t know. how do you define reasons? how do you define anything? when I said I needed balance what I meant was I am tired of feeling too much of everything. I lack stability in my emotions because certain people are too far away in my life and I need them closer. so I replace them. by talking to strangers and revealing more about myself than I would ever. because it’s easy for me. because I don’t care what people think.

because it doesn’t matter. it can’t possibly matter. why would anyone care about what one has to say in the middle of a hidden street in a city of millions where people keep going on with their lives as if nothing else interests them. people pretend to care about each other because it’s a nice thing to do, weird moments and looks start when you actually grow to care about someone, because you really do. not because you need reasons, or because you’re lonely. I wish I could make it simple, use lighter words and make this whole thing go away. but the truth is I am too observant and too ignorant at the same time not to mention certain things. I have say what I think. I can’t help it. and right now I am thinking I am a whole lot closer to my inner balance and being content than I was this time yesterday. why? I am not sure.

maybe you should ask stevie wonder. he knows answers to some things.

signed oscar wilde.

kurt cobain’s cardigan


this photo could be from the night, which we spent at the waterfront together. but it’s not. I came home late a few hours, and didn’t mind. my heart was full but you never called again. unspoken memories, undecided minds. I am not sure what I would do if I saw again. ignore you, comes to mind. or maybe I am just too bitter and too disappointed. who knows. it’s a strange morning. it feels like late afternoon, I only woke up a few minutes ago. my mind is heavy. pulsating. but words keep coming to me. I could never stop that. things remind me of things, which remind me of this, which then remind me of something else. it’s always been like that. the thought process and the end of it. and the fact that you’re up here doesn’t help at all.

the kid who had a heart is back to being my daily constant. it always amazes me the power of instinct, the strength of his voice and the difference between drummers on each album. they have been with me too long now I am not really able to abandon them for some new age so-called independent bands of late 00s. it’s been a strange day. I started writing this little piece in the morning only to leave it open until the evening. I was late for school, with a headache and thought none of it matters. but it actually kind of does. I am drinking my late night coffee, a triple latte, listening to demo versions of nirvana’s songs. most of them recorded in his living room. there’s something poetic about the bad quality. I am finding poetry everywhere. I am obsessed with my own book of poetry, which I never finished but plan to during the next few weeks. I have many bits and pieces which are waiting for me to tape them together and pretend they have a meaning.

today I wondered why I still bother with being around him, when he doesn’t give a shit.

three one four

listen, I’m getting too old for a lot of things. but I’m not too old for words. for a baggy pair of jeans and my boyfriend’s t-shirts. I’m not too old for wine in a paper cup and a marlboro every once in a while. I’m not too old for peter pan and I’m not too old to quote holden caulfield. I’m not too old to lay in my all day trying to get this story out of my skin, trying to burn it through the paper and read books under my covers with a flashlight, not too old to stare at the glow in the dark stars stuck to my ceiling at night. I’m not too old to ride around with the windows down and simon and garfunkel turned up, because that’s the way simon and garfunkel should be played. I’m not too old to jump on my bed and refuse to wash my hair. I’m not too old to run around bare foot with a smile stuck my face even when times are hard. and I’m not too old to get out of here. next spring I’m taking off. to hear summer turn into fall, to listen as the leaves in a park somewhere whisper stories in my ear, to fall asleep in the rose gardens, wake up when winter laughs under my sheets, to write letters back home on paper napkins, make lightwaves feel like experience, to make mistakes, to write poetry in the backest seat of a bus, to exchange thousands of words with people I’ve never met, to do things I have never done on my own before, to fail miserably time over time, to fuck up and never ever ever ever give up.