so there goes another one

the beginning of 2011 and the end of winter were the hardest times of the year. instability, anger, loneliness, more anger, disappointment and simply the feeling of a broken heart were what I used to wake up with each morning. before I even opened my eyes, I felt miserable. regular sleepless nights and the unfortunate connection to the red district established their roots around this time. I wrote about prince edward boy and then I actually met him. we’ve been close every since. he keeps leaving and returning and every single time I deal with the same pathos. in march, reading patti smith’s just kids changed my life. I still pick up the book every once in a while, just flipping through pages and reading passages that are relevant to me. things seemed be getting better but that was a delusion. I’d make one step forward, two steps backwards. I thought about the australian too much and still hoped there was a chance to go back to where we were. sometime mid-spring I gave up on loving the first love. that was a big change in my life and I had no idea what to fill the emptiness with. (apart from strangers.)

I purchased my first dslr camera and have been carrying it around everywhere ever since. (well, I wish this was entirely true but I do carry it around quite often.) the rain season started. I celebrated my twentieth birthday. filmmaker became a permanent part of my life; I met new people, I left the old ones behind. or so was I trying to do. still am. spring turned into summer with easiness that I hadn’t expected because I used to despise summer. many of the nights were spent on peel street and our small corner of the red district. lots of chinese lessons, lots of work, lots of hangovers. I started a different job, got a few small articles published. but otherwise I was dealing with a crisis as a writer. the middle of the summer brought new individuals into my life. then he left again. I kept myself busy in order to take mind off in a different direction. I wrote letters but published only a few of them. during one of the hot summer nights I befriended the french boy. I held out my hand to introduce myself but he kissed me. mademoiselle, he said. after that night different colors and dreams were on my mind. I realized I’d been wrong planning everything the way I have until that moment. I decided to make changes. many changes.

at the end of the summer I went home for the first time in two years. I started writing my own version of on the road but I never had the chance to finish it. my time in prague was delightful but being back home incredible. my favorite month of september was about swimming across the bay, sitting on my terrace drinking wine and writing. it was about sunrises and sunsets. september is my favorite. I met with my old friends, dining on the riviera of a little town on the dalmatian coast. weeks went by fast but even the last days of september were warm enough to swim. my last sight of the sea, I was on a bus en route to my place of birth. autumn rolled out before my eyes as we drove further into countryside. forrests, mountains, dryland. changing license plates, yellow highway lines, blue cloudless sky. between croatia, bosnia, slovenia, slovakia and then again czech republic, I spent a few weeks off the grid whilst taking buses and trains across eastern europe. I didn’t write a lot but memories have remained with me. I decided to focus on the living, not the recording. five thousand photographs to document three months. it seemed like a lot and I still haven’t edited all of them. november meant cooler but nicer days. I went back to filmmaker’s ghetto. only then I realized how much I actually missed him while I was away. coming a full circle now because winter is under way, although hong kong cannot compete with its twenty degrees december days. I have been quiet lately, only because I have been saving myself for some other stories on my mind. different opportunities, perhaps.

I am slowly beginning to sign off on twenty eleven. mixed thoughts and feelings. everything has blurred into one big chaotic mess. twelve months, three hundred sixty five days seem like nothing. just a blink of an eye, a click of my shutter or a flick of a lighter. burning candles and running water. and new year will begin with a pop of a champagne bottle. fleeting moments of undefined emotions. each ending is exactly the same. counting my mistakes, counting all the words I’ve said and all the wordsthat I regret, counting the missed chances and unreturned smiles. all the phone calls I did not pick up and all the messages I ignored that could have changed the course of my life. I keep thinking about what the french boy once told me: by yourself is not enough. you will see, by yourself is not enough. I laughed at him back then because being my own everything is how I chose to be in order to preserve the last bits of sanity I still possess. I thought that not being anybody’s anything would make me the happiest. but maybe I am wrong. maybe I am so fucking wrong. I guess, twenty twelve will show me.

and kick my ass.

volume eighteen: christmas bokeh

***

these were taken sometime last week, but now that it is actually december and I am listening to love actually soundtrack on repeat, it seemed appropriate to finally post this bunch.

happy december, friends.

volume seventeen: outdoor lunch in soho

***

my greatest inspiration was our lunch in soho yesterday afternoon; a french restaurant. potato soup, pasta and a cup of black coffee. I took photographs, admiring the light and atmosphere of those minutes. the weather has been good to us the last few days. I am only hoping it will last. there is more here.

everything reminds me of him

written last night. november days in hong kong; so different from last year.

8:23 pm. he’s asleep on the sofa as I type this. broken social scene is keeping me company but I am not really listening to the words of lover’s spit even though it is one of the best songs on the album. it has been a long time since I listened to it. the past few days I have been waking up to yellow glow of our apartment as the sun touches the walls through the curtains in my room. my morning routines are starting to set their roots in my day. during the first few minutes of my consciousness I am not responsive to the outer world but the words of the day are already being formed in my mind. I imagine them on paper; what they sound like, what they taste like. I picture my words being printed in a book on a shelf in a bookstore. that image, that idea never leaves me. and then I remember.

I remember that my words are filled with gaps and pauses and there is so much I am not capable of noting down the way it should be. sometimes my imagination precedes me and the meaning of words escapes me. so I take photographs instead, I read other people’s words hoping they will provide me with comfort I cannot find in my own writing. I keep thinking of susan sontag and her greatness. I am constantly reminded that the only thing standing between me and being a great writer is laziness. I keep trying to find excuses. writer’s block, too much work, too many people. this and that.

at the end of the day I sit down and write. write, write, write, write. like there’s no tomorrow. because there isn’t one. for some reason filmmaker’s apartment is the only place right now I can find some quiet moments. I wanted to think it’s a good thing but it actually feels as if chains have been tied around my arms. but I still took a minibus back to the ghetto; we had dinner and we walked around. I am confused around tsuen wan and I never really know where to turn because it all looks the same. but then I don’t have to know anything for as long he’ll be waiting at the bus station with a newspaper in one hand and twenty fifth cigarette of the day in the other.