december 18

I am not sure how to start. it has been ten days since I have last opened this editor. seven since I last had a laptop. of course, I will whine about it. of course, I will. a four month old back up seems entirely useless now, when I think of everything that is lost. images taken at the anniversary party, the little one’s first birthday; forty thousand different words that were supposed to belong to my novel, three months’ worth of daily letters to him. september, october, november. all gone. and a bunch of unrelated daily writings. it seems as if everything is preparing for the new year. a fresh start. it feels as if nothing good has happened in the last two weeks. only good moments are those with the boy. he makes everything okay.

I’ve hit rock bottom. in so many ways. I wish I could just strip from my skin and wear another one. I wish I just could just cease to exist. not die. just disappear and exist in a different form. the boy has moved out into his own place. he’s holding out a second set of keys for me. waiting. I feel cornered into an impossible situation without actually having done too much.

it’s Christmas now. but it doesn’t really feel like it. I keep thinking about how excited I used to be when I was younger. I want to bring it back even though it’s almost impossible to pinpoint that exact moment when it all changed. we are going through ups and downs all the time; I’m not sure why we are still holding onto each other. except for the fact that to do anything else would not make sense. I’m writing this on the go just for the sake of having written something and I hate it. it will have to do until I have a chance to sit down properly.

happy holidays.

seven nine zero

three images from october. it was a much sunnier month than the last two. I am missing the warm glow of sunbeam; the way it fills the streets of hong kong with color and brightness.

the year is coming to its end.

I started thinking whether I should write a bilantaine (is that even a word? it seems to me it is just a remainder of the old days. ailyn? juneau?) or not. when I think about the last twelve months; I don’t want to write anything. there have been more bad days than good days and twenty-thirteen needs to be better.

it has to be.

instead of writing about these past twelve months, I am focusing on those that are yet to come. I am grateful that susannah has made the time and created another one of her workbooks. it’s just a small thing, really. but somehow it feels relevant to sit down with it and actually create a focus for 2013. I doubt that I will share mine, but it is good to have it.

so thank you for that.

yesterday was a terrible day. I felt like a dog that knows it’s about to die. the way they hide in the woods, so nobody can see them. I am watching lie to me again and I am beginning to see it everywhere. it’s too much. I still write daily miniature letters to him; three months worth of self-doubt and anxiety unbalanced with being completely crazy. sometimes I feel like a traitor because I never showed him any of it.

but it’s better like that.


I stayed home for two days, reading the united states’ history of foreign relations. more than a thousand pages. successfully avoiding the impossible weather outside, which makes me cranky and annoyed. killing them softly was disappointing. brad pitt is definitely growing older but kind of like al pacino. all good. we laughed at the start, left silent at the end. there were a few good points. obama’s presence in almost every scene was, perhaps, a bit too much. but it was good for my soul. this ain’t a community, this is america. we walked around kowloon; it was a friday night but neither one of us felt like going out. we sat outside at a new place, one drink. then he took me home. after midnight I made sure to mention that it’s december now. if there are any differences between us, this is one of them. he doesn’t care about the time passing by. december, january, february. it’s all the same to him. he makes time wait for him. he makes everyone wait. for me, this is unimaginable. between the two of us, it’s a healthy balance.

saturday night felt like a failure despite the good time. filmmaker made a point of leaving with a boom and a couple of loud fuck yous. being civil and at least partially honest is kind of a luxury in relationships. and of course, at the end, I was the only one surprised. everyone else just gave me the I told you so look. it didn’t really help. to write about the rest of the night would be inappropriate. when afternoon came, I didn’t really care about negatives anymore. chill fills the air and my clothes but it doesn’t matter because we stay close. our weekly ritual; a meal at yoshinoya. always the same rice with beef, a thick layer of chili flakes. you and me, we’ll always be like this, he said to me as he opened the set of chopsticks for me and handed them over. I looked at him quietly, but said nothing. we clinked our paper cups cheers and continued eating. I didn’t go home that night or that afternoon. when I finally did get home, it was only for a few hours. skyfall was okay. for the first time in my life, I fell asleep in the cinema. guilt-ridden, I asked him what happened. they killed M was his only comment. I miss pierce brosnan as james bond, I really do. days are filled with rain, good books and cinema nights. somehow everything seems to be okay. I am looking forward to the year’s end.

twenty twelve has worn me out.