turning tables

march rolled in with a casual feeling about it. it simply invited itself in and I did not have enough time to write it all down. day in, day out. turbulences of the last few days seem to have subsided into separate corners and the air is easier to breathe now. but I am still cautious. evenings do not blend into mornings anymore. even though occasionally I still find myself eating a kebab out of a plastic bag at five o’clock on the corner of hollywood road. it’s just what I do sometimes and that particular sunday, everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

the flicker of yellow lamps, steps next to buddha bar. those first questions that eventually lead to something. I emerged in the morning, not really knowing what to expect but I was pleasantly surprised to find myself in surroundings that are everything but unknown to me. I waited for the sunrise at a street crossing, looking up. rain falling softly down, turning my hair moist and curly. the blinding darkness and deafening silence. things that do not exist and yet we feel them because we want to. ninety seven, seventy one. searching for an understanding, acceptance. anything that could make me feel less alone. alone vs. lonely. I am having one of those debates with myself; it’s one of those that nobody can win. silence of that sunday morning sealed all of my emotions into pavement. instead of guilt, I felt calm. it had been a long time, still. I expected nothing. five days went by.

filmmaker is a constant in a way that makes me feel grounded, less disoriented. almost like hearing a familiar voice after a long time of separation. despite being always in a room of full people I cannot help but feel isolated. it isn’t the question of belonging anymore, it’s more about where I would rather be. I like to sit down for a drink at joyce’s after work because we don’t even know how long they are going to be there now. it’s the regular cycle. every two years things change, places disappear, people move on. I like standing in the middle of it all. perhaps, I am moving along with everything else as well. at least I hope so.

I went back to the tennis court yesterday. on the other side of the net was someone I would least expect but it was fun. the weather cleared up. clear sky, sunny, warm. I felt a little bit more like my old self. high on life. I thought of my childhood, my grandmother. I sink every time I remember that it was her birthday the other day and I didn’t even talk to her. home is always going to be home but what happens when it starts to feel distant and foreign? I walked back to our apartment after dinner and thought of all the strangers I’d met on my three month trip across europe last year. the poet with a missing hand, a girl on the train from bratislava back to prague, people I had talked to on all those bus routes, the crazy bunch of future lawyers I befriended in a city park in zagreb, a boy from aruba who asked me where the closest post office was, the soccer player whom I’d noticed because of his ‘i heart singapore’ t-shirt. I had to talk to him; the idea that he might have been in hong kong as well excited me. I thought of them all and wished that’s how everything could be all the time.

careless but full of life.