september, vi.

The coconut oil is no longer liquid. There is no daylight at 8.30 pm.

I didn’t end up going to the store even though there is no food in the fridge. None. I’ll go tomorrow instead.

Peppermint tea and peppermint cookies. There were still three left.

I am trying to remember what I did today. There doesn’t seem to be much of it. Nothing specific or spectacular.

Twenty pages into international conflicts management. Two hundred to go. I am internally boycotting this course. I disagree with all of it.

I am hopeful but I am trying not to get my hopes up. We’ve come a long way.

I wonder whether Jericho will see me again. The story began in 9600 BC and I still haven’t learned my lesson.

Maybe something. Maybe nothing.

I am going to persist. The trick is to not give up. And somehow at some point, there will be a ripple of something fresh. Things will change and I will recognize the hard work before it. But I need to persist first. Keep growing. Learn patience.

I don’t mind being back in Prague. Not at all. But I know what I am missing here. Who. I know it and I can’t shake that away. There’d be no point in lying about it.

september, iv.

Awake at 5 am.

First morning back in Prague: gloomy, chilly.

The fact that I woke up too early on the very first morning revealed everything I needed to know.

I spilled water all over the floor. Then the coffee overflew all over the stove.

I spent most of the working hours reading. I didn’t do any of the other work.

On the way home, heavy rain fell. By the time I stepped off the tram, it stopped.

Some love to my flat. Some love to me.

All the things that I looked at tonight. All the stuff that I have done. I wouldn’t know how to describe the universe inside my mind.

Unusually quiet. Tonight is the night when I realized work is easier without music. This is as groundbreaking as realizing that I do not have to drink coffee in the morning.

One more. Then I’ll sleep. 11.22 pm. I feel accomplished. Even though I haven’t finished any of the things I wanted to finish. It’s just not how it works.



september, iii.

In a new office for the second time this summer. It has all the daylight I need to exist and everything is immediately easier.

Autumn has broken in the city. It’s much easier to move around now.

I borrowed a Pocketbook from my local library and I think that settles it for now. [nope, I gave up within twenty minutes on it]

I have so many plans but tonight I will only sleep.

I’m still coming to terms with the non-responsiveness. How did I not see that one coming?

In fact, what was I thinking? Are a few sentences all that it takes?

I picked up two bottles of Plavac at the airport this morning. A little gesture from myself to myself.

Thirty-seven days. Nine days.

I need to devote more time to reading in Czech. One of the reasons I moved back was to not let the language slip away from me. But that’s exactly what’s happening.

I am the last person in the office but the sun is on my face and I don’t mind. Welcome back to Prague. Welcome back.

six, thirteen

I am out of practice; out of breath. The words don’t come easily. I have to call for them, like for a scared stray cat. It used to be that it would all disappear. I’d turn away from myself. But instead, I just need to let it come to me and be quick about catching the right moment. A little bit like a perfectly chilled glass of wine. Tender gyoza for dinner, two nights in a row. Lebanese for lunch, again. I remain faithful to my habits even though I know there is so much more out there. I’ve made a list of neighborhoods in Prague I want to explore, revisit. It’s been far too long. I wish I loved this city the way I love all the others. The rain and gloom have slowed me down. The last few days, perhaps even weeks, have been quiet. Unusually so.

november, xiii.

Because he’ll never stop being relevant to me.

I just need to get through this month. It hasn’t been a good month so far and I feel guilty about that.

The guilt is the worst. The lack of will to do something. Anything.

I flip through my favorite books, not reading, just catching a line or two here and there.

I need to vacuum. Scrub the floor. Purge the closet space. The things I own are suffocating me.

There is an oleander in the middle of my bedroom now. We are from the same region and almost the same age. Isn’t that a weird thing to say about a plant?

I couldn’t sleep at 2 AM the other night. I stood up on the bed, feeling the extra height. I wondered what was going on in the other apartments. I practiced yoga for half an hour. Keeping myself inversed and feeling a crack in my right hip. It happens more often now. Blood rushed through my body, like life.

The only consolation about falling asleep at almost four in the morning is that light won’t come back for another few hours.

I bought a packet of sliced bread and cream cheese for dinner. Decided not to feel guilty about it.

Most of the time, I wish I lived somewhere else. Which means I am singlehandedly disrespecting Prague. For saving my life. Guilt. But cities no longer dictate how I feel.

I came to the realization that I particularly dislike turquoise hues. I started an abstract experiment color study in hopes I’ll learn to like it. It seems so unnatural.

I need to make time for my travel journal and watercolor practice.

I dream of making moussaka for him again.

Riders On The Storm. On repeat.