nine eleven twelve

September 11, 2013

something I wrote last month. it seemed fitting to publish it today. depressed words, perhaps I am the only one to understand the hidden meaning there.

I would not have spent so much time trying to justify my actions to other people if it wasn’t for the treat of being completely alone. I don’t fear loneliness, I am just tired of it. Hong Kong is closing in on me. The streets are too familiar, the people too annoying. Weather does not improve with summer months, quite on the contrary. Rain wears me out as well as the grey skies that are a constant this period of the year. It seems as if the imaginary piece of China is not enough for me anymore. I dream of fresh air, I dream of different waters. I dream of foreign languages and dialects, which I had never heard of before. I dream of hot, dry air and endless stretches of savannah before me. Wildlife and green jungles as opposed to never-ending concrete of the City of Tomorrow. Or perhaps, it’s too late for that. The increasing influx of Mainlanders in the last couple of years have destroyed all and any remaining hope for this harbor. It stopped being an idealist city a long time ago. There is nothing left here.

The corrupt system is wiping out all that is important to me. It strips down all the beauty and simplicity that we are hoping for. Everything that we long for, everything that we want disappears in the fog with each day. It drifts away farther and farther away from us and no matter how hard we tried to cling onto the nearest paramount of despair it just doesn’t happen. We are left alone in the middle of the night, nearing the dawn of the end. When we say goodbye, we hope the next day when we wake up life will not be so difficult, but both of us, we know that nothing is going to change in such a short period of time. We are bringing each other down now, killing everything alive inside us in the process. Soon there will be nothing left and then it will be too late. It will be too late.

It has been one year since the weekend; since the execution of a decision that would change my life forever. That would change me in ways that I hadn’t expected. In ways that I was hoping could be possible to avoid. The self-destructive state of mind that followed in the coming months was nothing like I ever went through before. I began to loathe the city, but could not bring myself to leave. The only thing more impossible than disappearing was staying in the same momentum. But here I am. Nothing has changed, nothing is different even though twelve months have passed. But nothing is different. Except for myself. Whoever I used to be before; the only remains consist of broken pieces of an empty shell. Like a cracked mirror that can never mended back together.

The cracks will always remain. The emptiness is no longer a friend. It became a parasite of my insides, of my mind. Eating me alive with each breath I take. Further diminishing everything I have ever known into nothingness. There is no way back anymore. It doesn’t exist.

mindful mondays, twenty-four

September 9, 2013


source: unknown

I am working on too many things at the moment. I don’t sleep enough; and I feel there’s not enough hours in the day. when it’s raining, I hate it. when it’s sunny, the day feels wasted, because I cannot be outside to enjoy it. I was so sure that I’d be leaving this week; and I am not. I am not sure what to do with myself now. we thought we were running out of time, the panic, the sheer frustration of not being able to do everything we want to do. we are both still here, but we don’t know for how long. I am always looking up flights, but every week it’s to a different location. different continent. I complain of routine, yet nothing in my life is stable. balanced. it is a terrible way to live.

so many words had collected in my brain, notes, various pieces of scrap paper. I collected words all week. but they’ve disappeared. it’s all gone. you think too much. yes, I know. but I don’t know how not to. constant migraines, chronic sinusitis. we escaped to stanley market, to hear and smell the ocean. to drink from a bottle on the stairs and watch kids and dogs running around. to kiss under the stars and listen to the waves crash on the shore. to be, to exist, to breathe. we escaped. on the way back, something hit me so hard on the top of the head, my eyelids dropped. another episode. all those goddamn air-conditioners. he massaged my head and face for half an hour; slowly circulating around my eyes, behind the neck and ears. he taught himself what to do with moments like these. words never help.

I slept easily that night, but it was a disturbed one. a nightmare kept coming back to me. laying in bed, four o’clock in the morning, startled. I realized I had no idea where I was headed. I could end up anywhere.

mindful mondays, twenty-three

September 3, 2013

morning; a few days ago.

the boy turns twenty-four today. messages are rolling onto his profile pages, into his texts and messages. some people call me, because they don’t know his number, but know mine. they know us. the future unrolls before us with such uncertainty, neither one of us wants to talk about it. it’s exhilarating. terrifying. and all those other big words. I sent a broken message in french to his mother last night, hoping she would receive it just in time. son numéro de téléphone est différent. no response. I keep hoping. I am not even sure why it’s so important to me. I guess the barrier between them, the distance, it’s something I never had to experience and it pains me that he does. yet I don’t care that much. maybe I am just trying to gain some points.

we carry on with our lives as if nothing has happened. it frustrates me, because I am ready for a change. it’s all I can think about. messages are sent out into the air, back and forth, meaningless words filled with hope and disappointment. I am not sure how much longer we’ll be able to keep up with it, before we run out of things to say. before we run out of apologies, explanations and weak dismissals of what ifs. they make it hard to focus on daily tasks. house of cards fueled my obsession with politics and dc; I am back on the track. the rainy weather outside makes for the perfect conditions for reading and snuggling up.

my cluster headache is back and I can’t write anything else anymore.