mindful mondays, twenty-seven

four things this week.

one. with mama sanja being gone and back in bosnia for a few weeks; father and I are indulging in a rather loose bachelor lifestyle. drinks and smokes on the balcony, takeout dinners and watching breaking bad back to back. that is, if I am at home at all. I seem to be unable to return any time before three am. sleep when you’re dead. okay. we take turns in going out or we go out together. but it’s always worth it.

two. speaking of three am, it is the best time to sit around star ferry, listen to music loud on speakers, enjoy the cooler weather and breeze, and laugh. we always laugh. there’s no one else around and all sounds are reflected in a beautiful echo in darkness and vastness of the space around us. we’ve been doing this quite often lately, preferring a bottle of juice or chocolate milkshake to drunkness of central area. it’s nice and quiet and simple. it’s what I need more of.

three. I have come up with a project for october. it’s a daily thing and it keeps me busy. I haven’t decided yet whether I will share it with anyone. but I like it. it makes me learn and pushes me outside of my boundaries, and it gets my creative juices flowing. something to do with the online dictionary, the word of the day and a word-count limit of five to nine hundred. you get the idea.

four. I am trying to take care of myself more. facial masks, body scrubs, morning smoothies, and longer and more frequent walks. I wish I knew how to organize my time better. I have been completely neglecting myself. recently someone I met, who is double my age, looked so beautiful and healthy and I asked him, how do you do that? your skin is incredible. and he said, it’s because I live well. it made me quiet and it made reconsider everything. I don’t want to get to my forties and fifties and look anything short of amazing at that age. honestly. it’s scarier than it seems when you really think about it.

september days


notes on the last couple of days.

allen youngblood offers the best hugs. it was so self-affirming and sincere. nothing out of the proportion or context. just a simple question: can we hug for a little bit? out of all the compliments and comments in my direction that night, it meant a whole lot more to me. it was good to see them. flynn, my teddy bear drank his usual red and cringed at the local singer’s failed rendition of whitney houston’s I will always love you. well, we all did. the guitarist was missing, but it was okay. I am hoping we’ll find each other again. that particular corner in wan chai, it never changes. it retrospect, it seems as if I’ve met every single important person in my life on that corner. all of them.

I met with s for a coffee that turned into everything, but that. a quick trip to the central library reminded me of the old days when I used to run away from school and hide in the aisles filled with nothing but books. I used to spend entire afternoons, sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading complete volumes on world history and whatever else that would feed my curiosity. quietly reciting the sylvia plath’s the bell jar, only to interrupt her with poetry of mao zedong. those afternoons there, at that time they seemed like the only way how I could remain sane and intact. I always left only after they kicked me out. which was just about around the time we were there. memories flooded me. I must have read a couple of hundred books the fall and winter of 2009. I remember the delifrance downstairs and eating my weight in almond croissants with black coffee.

all of a sudden, it was nighttime. I could feel the heat of the pavement, as I stood outside, smoking a cigarette. people passed me by, I waited for him to return. my mind wandered away, completely. I almost didn’t notice the red light at a street crossing opposite. we spent half an hour rummaging through a thrift clothes shop; I found a perfect little black dress for less than a hundred dollars. the corner of his mouth curved a little bit; more of a hint of a smile rather than an actual expression. I saw a glimpse of it in the mirror reflection as I was trying to see if the dress would fit me. he didn’t say anything, but I wondered whether he imagined me wearing it in his mind.

what’s the difference between vibe and chemistry between two people? he shows me hints and pieces of himself, each time there’s a little bit more to the story than there was before. he offers himself to me and I just take it, without giving too much in return. something holds me back every time I’d like to share something with him. what if? I never gave much thought to this before. I am not sure why start now. the night moved along. drinks were had, jokes were said, entire packs of smokes were finished. the music was loud and the people were there; moving around, pushing each other in a drunken concept of having a good time. I always look at everyone around me; not sure whether to be disgusted or amused.

at some point, we weren’t there anymore. pointless exchange of sentences that led and contributed to absolutely nothing. I took the bus back to the dark side. after three days of not speaking at all; I was relieved to see him. his face, the way he moves. something familiar, something that is entirely mine. or at least, I am blind enough to convince myself of that. where did you disappear? we both did, I just didn’t know it before that moment. the boy from the bird was hilarious as always, I was happy to see him. we left home together and it made everything okay. just as I fell asleep with the soft outline of sunrise on the horizon, I thought, absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

mindful mondays, twenty-six


the idea of a perfect office / dubrovnik / tulum, mexico / a seahorse in a jar
all sourced from pinterest

the above images pull me through the day. they pull me through the entire week. I am thinking of the caribbean, azure clear waters and warm pink sand in between my toes. hong kong beaches are not like that. over the weekend, the city was paid a visit by the most severe tropical typhoon of twenty-thirteen, which means the coastline is even less attractive now. we’ve barely felt it, those of us living among the concrete, but the outskirts of hong kong and the rest of south east asia have been damaged quite visibly. my wanting to escape and disappear from this part of the world increases with each passing day. pilot’s messages and geographical updates are definitely not contributing to my state of mind. and he’s not the only one causing (not unwanted) disturbance. I repeatedly return to my own writings to him; I could easily plead a case of temporary insanity, should anyone be willing to actually believe it. my days are swallowed by furious monotony and I am losing myself completely. any distraction, even just a hint of an adventure; I leap like a frog. it’s a funny picture, isn’t it? but it is costing me a lot.

I’m writing personal essays, resumes and emails, instead of poetry and short stories inspired by nocturnal outings with the filmmaker. I have officially reached the age when I need to start sucking up to people and their expectations, instead of following my own intuition. but, somehow, I am okay with that. for now. I am finding myself avoiding most people that were relevant to me, oh I swear, just five minutes ago. I am not sure what happened. I like the feeling of pushing the red decline button and silencing the phone to voicemail. I am busy now. filmmaker reminded me of some my old writings from my european trip two years ago; revisiting these emails, I cannot help but cringe. emails with subjects like and so the eastern european flow of shit continues were a regular thing. I am glad you reminded me of this. definitely good times.

and mondays will always be mondays.

what it feels like now

as opposed to this and this.

you still think about it. a couple of times a day. you still forget to breathe sometimes, but you learn how to control it. how not to let it affect you on a daily basis. you learn how to live with it. you still write about it, a lot. you can’t show the words to anyone, because no one would understand, really. they would make you think that they do understand, but they don’t. you spare yourself the time and the heavy feeling. because everything makes you weary these days. everything. you’ve tried to turn your life around, but all you managed was to settle for a routine. you wake up every day. sometimes early, sometimes late, sometimes in the middle of the day. you go to work. you walk there or you take the MTR. beep, beep, beep. you listen to music on the way and you pretend you are somewhere else. you completely transfer yourself. your mind leaves your body. by the time you reach your desk and your responsibilities and unanswered emails, you’ve filled your brain with different images than what surrounds you all around. it’s the only way you know how to survive. it’s less about living, more about surviving. the less you care, the less it hurts. the less it sucks.

you settle for less now, because you feel so undeserving. because when you had a good thing (or you thought you had it), you fucked it up. so you settle for less. you settle for long hours and less cash; you settle for a different person to love, even though you know it’s not him; you settle for superficial friendships instead of real ones (except for the filmmaker); you settle for cheap words and you write paragraphs for eight hundred bucks instead of two thousand. or three. you compromise, but on your own account. you settle for less and you’re okay with it. you feel numb and invisible most of the time. when you feel good, it’s because you’re under an influence; coffee and cigarettes, a gin’n’tonic, a good film or a song that you love with your entire heart. or your favorite book that you keep re-reading over and over, because it’s the only thing that makes sense. white oleander, which you must have read at least sixty four times since you were twelve. or your most recent favorite; alexandra fuller and her cocktail hour under the tree of forgetfulness. then, there are books that always make you feel like shit. the lover’s dictionary that you bought in may last year. it always reminds you of everything. the first time you finished it, you wanted to write a message on the first couple of pages and pass the book to him. not like the book without an e, because this would be different. that never happened, but you always think of that. you also regret not having done it, because you still have the copy. it weights you down every time you read it. every time you look at it.

you settle for less. you still think about it. and then a year later; one morning when you return home after sunrise, in a delirium, covered in bitterness and rain water, you sit down at the computer and send a message to him. no words, just a link to a youtube clip. your heart throbs in your throat as you press enter, but you do it anyway. most surprisingly, his reply arrives half an hour later. and it’s at that moment that you realize you are going to get sucked into a rabbit hole you won’t know how to get out of. but you don’t turn away from it. you don’t know how to do that. you settle for less. you settle for vague words, explanations and apologies. you settle for miles apart, you settle for hours and days of waiting. you wait a lot these days. you settle for less, because you know you can’t have the real thing. because you don’t deserve the real thing. and you wait. because maybe the day when you will stop feeling like this is not too far away. and you will stop surviving, and start living.

mindful mondays, twenty-five


I wish I had a minute to stop. and think and actually really focus. focus on exactly what I am doing. without thinking about anything else. without answering the phone, replying to emails. without checking messages and taking cigarette and coffee breaks every hour. without being interrupted by anything at all. but life is hectic and busy and there isn’t any time for anything at all. so I keep going.