february 29

a leap year. I keep thinking how strange it must be to have a birthday every four years. I am spending the morning with two cups of coffee, quiet music and the new york times.

march tomorrow. already. again.

falling whistles

my falling whistle arrived in the mail yesterday. it feels good to wear it. I cannot remember exactly how I stumbled upon this campaign a few weeks back but things have changed since then. I spent hours doing research about the congo, trying to understand. but I guess it’s impossible. number one priority is raising awareness because as it turns out due to people’s general ignorance in regards to anything outside their comfort zone, it is rare that people actually know what is happening in the congo. and so I am trying. two conflicting emotions have appeared recently; one is feeling good about doing something but the other is feeling completely insignificant and tiny in comparison to the issue. but I do know that giving up would be foolish.

so, whilst you are sitting comfortably in front of your computer, perhaps with a beverage of your choice, take a minute and go through the following links:

+ be a whistleblower for peace
+ falling whistles
+ crisis in the congo: uncovering the truth
+ congo women
+ enough project
+ angelina jolie’s journal from congo
+ robin wright in congo

and hopefully do something.

this cannot be love

a week went by. he wanted to see me but I wouldn’t let him. maybe I was selfish but I needed my own space. to recover, not only from the illness but also from the invisible wounds of the past few weeks. sleep was the only consolation that I needed and the british accent of downton abbey. yesterday I finally felt well enough to leave the house. the ever-lasting grey weather put me in a dreary mood. I took the train to his place; I walked slowly. the apartment was dark, the air in it stale and dump. his little sister sleeping in the next room, coughing faintly in her sleep.

we watched the cartoon network, which is what we always do every time I find myself on his couch, next to him, in a soft but firm embrace of his arms. watching tom & jerry makes me nostalgic but I appreciate those quiet moments, interrupted only with occasional laughter. it wasn’t until I saw his face that I realized how much I actually missed him. I thought of nothing.

the air grew colder and I stepped outside for a cigarette. darkness was falling down around me gradually and I wished there were stars on the sky. he came down after me. I leaned onto him, smelling his gentle cologne. we gazed at the nightly sky. I want to move somewhere where I can see the stars, I said. I felt him nod.

later in the evening we sat in our park, laughing. there were no arguments and we ate mcdonald’s. surprisingly they were playing jazz. I found this amusing and amazing at the same time and he just looked at me. you are crazy, he repeated. papa made fried bananas and soft potato mash with meat and beans, which they roll in balls as they eat. I like that it is their custom to eat with hands. they bit off pieces of chili peppers and talked in their language. instead of feeling as an outsider, somehow, I felt at peace. it gives me time to observe them. I am trying to learn.

it rained in the early hours of the morning and we fell asleep with the sound of rain pounding on the windows and roof. I felt calm. everything seemed to be as it should be.

fifty six

unknown sources.

I managed to write for forty three days straight. and then the words disappeared. together with me. I imagine something similar has already happened last year, therefore, no one should be surprised at my inability to keep up. I know I am not surprised. I stretched myself out as a writer, hoping to accomplish something I didn’t even believe in to begin with. I needed a reminded of what simplicity is. I am lacking simplicity in life. it’s one of those endless questions in my writing: what is it that I wish to do with my life? the soundtrack of reign over me has put me in a strange state of mind. quiet but restless. words are floating around inside my head and I cannot put them down. they are like summer flies and there’s too many of them.

six days of nothingness; weary morning routines. I did not leave the apartment once. the current weather in hong kong seems to agree with me. I am trying to trace back events of the past two weeks. I’ve seen very little of hazelnut boy. h came to visit me with a pint of ice cream and buffy the vampire slayer on dvd. there was valentine’s day, which for me meant a twenty four working shift with my father and the rest of the crew. we celebrated with a few drinks together. I spent the night with the boy. there was a birthday dinner a few days before that. the organic place. then something. dinner with prince edward boy but only I was eating. we smoked from the water pipe, clouds of smoke rising above us. the music reminded me of my bus rides across bosnia. peel st. a bunch of people were there but I cannot recall the faces. then I went back a few days later. makumba, and the australian lady. again. we did the whole circle. one of the first nights he waited for me at the park behind X. but that was before all of this. pieces have blended into one and I cannot tell, which night was which. what happened when and who was there. I remember seeing a glimpse of the boy who walks around town with fliers promoting bars. half italian, or something. and the guy with dreadlocks from a few weeks back; the musicians on the corner. everything has blurred into nothing.

simplicity, silence, solitude. I am on a quest to unravel my life. eliminate everything that annoys me. I am trying to learn something new every day. read, write, educate myself. I don’t pick my phone and I take hours to reply to messages. not to mention emails. I needed to slow down a little. ignore the outside world for a bit, so I can focus on things of importance.

february 17

there were three of them. and an australian lady. she felt incredibly out of place but it was mainly because of her age. I will never understand what she was doing at a club like zinc at almost one o’clock in the morning. with the three of them. but you know what they say. one of them recognized me from some time ago. I only just remembered that particular night. hazelnut boy was late as always but I really did not mind. I was amused by the comments from the lady. she kept being paranoid and skeptical. I just shrugged, saying: he has a life of his own. I am fine with that. she didn’t seem to understand that, which was okay with me. I thought of nothing. I danced like no one was watching but everyone was. we found love in a hopeless place. the thing about hong kong clubs; the music is always the same and eventually my mind connected certain experiences to a single moment, which seems to repeat itself every time a particular song comes on. conscious tranquilized state of mind. by the time I saw him, faces of people around me blurred into one. the night was unusually slow and despite the music, quiet. maybe I felt out of place, too, even though the lady was not there anymore. 97 was closed and it was thursday. the whole night didn’t make sense to me. the red district was deserted in a way. I was half expecting to see the guitarist stumbling down the street. but there was no one. the city went to sleep far too early. I took him for breakfast at old china hand; the best chicken in town. it’s a disgusting place but at five in the morning no one cares and especially not me. I told him about my plans and he laughed his ass off. sunrise took away the night and our clothes, too. but it was quite pointless. at some moment through the night, we began to comprehend who we are. people around us are wrong and ignorant. I never thought I would identify with a quote by a chinese communist leader but this one has stayed with me for a long time now: revolution isn’t a gala dinner. no, it isn’t.