December 3, 2012

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.

nous sommes infinie

November 25, 2012


lokua kanza keeps me company this morning. his soft, quiet tones have a strange calming effect. also, it is my single favorite musician from DRC. not that it somehow matters, but I have become quite acquainted with the music of africa. and then some. of course, the boy has had a profound impact on that, but in a way, he only made want to explore more. know more, learn more. when someone inspires you for the smallest things, perhaps that should be a good sign.

in hong kong, the month of november is a gloomy one. it rains a lot and temperatures drop below twenty degrees, which for most population means it’s time for warm coats, scarves and extra layers. myself included. I still struggle with certain things when it comes to the two of us, but at least, I take his jacket now without saying a word. it’s not fair, but I’ve learnt to live with it. other things; not so much. it took me so long to get home last night, because we stood on the street, argued and talked through everything that’s been on my heart for the past three days. I wondered whether this was our end. but no. I need to learn how to trust. how to let go. how many times will I have to say it. just because I have been hurt before doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again. don’t be naive. sleeping is my usual way of dealing with things. he’s trying to teach me how to talk. he’s been teaching me a lot of things.

talk to me, please. talk to me, I am here. I can see something’s wrong.
I am hurting, you know.

it’s all I could say and it wasn’t fair. life is not fair. but is it even supposed to be? I need to start journaling again. some of the best words I have ever written were the ones I couldn’t rewrite without tearing out the page. the line between a writer’s block and simple unwillingness is very thin and in my case, it is slowly disappearing altogether.

I am disappearing.