Saturday, 16 March 2013


29 C/F
Precipitation: 10%
Humidity: 66%
Wind: 19 km/h

I am drugged
By the stars in your eyes
By the freckles on your skin
Like constellations under a telescope
A vast of light particles
On the surface of the ocean
With your hair like the froth
Tangled with the sea weeds
You walk by the shore
The pavements of the city
Without the sand
You leave your footprints
Invisible yet felt
You are carried away
By the trains
The buses
By the wind
The smoke
From a chimney somewhere
Lost in your own map
A nomad in your emotions

And on the pages of your blue book


Friday, 15 March 2013


31 C/F
Precipitation: 0%
Humidity: 58%
Wind: 19 km/hour

Women who smoke.

"I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at that time. It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past."

Virginia Woolf


31 C/F
Precipitation: 0%
Humidity: 58%
Wind: 19 km/hour

Men who smoke.

"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close."

Pablo Neruda
(Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto)
Poet, diplomat

Friday, 8 March 2013


9 °C|°F
Precipitation: 60%
Humidity: 100%
Wind: 4mph
Light rain

It has always been hard for me to leave.

After many years of traveling and making choices and paths, I am still in need to master the art of separation. I get easily attached to things, or people, or places. It is both a good and bad thing. But I never get that kind of attachment if there is no proper connection and spark of inspiration. These are the things needed to establish a pact. It is a bond that stays even though sometimes parting is expected and is bound to happen.

Today I am leaving London to go back to my home city. I know it will be just for a while as I am coming back, but the thought of missing the early days of spring is definitely gonna be missed. I would not see the city coming to life again after the winter. I would not see if the gray skies of London can actually stay blue for a whole day.

Don't you just wish sometimes to experience al the great yet simple things there is on earth? And if there is something at all on earth that you want to experience over and over again what would it be?

I have always been fascinated with sunsets. Even at a young age, I would climb to our roof just to get a glimpse of the sun setting. And I continued doing that even if I moved to the city. Right now, a sunset would be perfect. Not only it connotes a message of parting, but it as well promises that it would come back the next day, brighter or maybe even prettier.

I know someone who also loves watching the sunset. He loves it so much he saw it forty four times in one day!


Chapter 6

Oh Little Prince! Bit by bit I am able to understand the secrets of your sad little life....
For a long time you had found your little entertainment in the quiet pleasure of looking at the sunset. I learned that new detail on the morning of the fourth day when you said to me:

"I am very fond of sunsets. Come, let us go and look at a sunset now."

"But we must wait," I said.

"Wait for what?"

"For the sunset. We must wait until it is time."

At first you seemed to be very much surprised. And then you laughed to yourself. And said to me" 

"I am always thinking that I am home!" 

Just so. Everybody knows that when it is noon in the United States the sun is setting over France.

If you could fly to France in one minute, you could go straight into the sunset, right from noon. Unfortunately, France is too far for that. But on your tiny planet, my little prince, all you need to do is move your chair a few steps. You can see the day end and the twilight falling whenever you like...

"One day," you said to me, "I saw the sunset forty four times!"

And a little later you added,

"You know, one loves the sunset---when one is so sad..."

"Were you so sad, then," I asked, "on the day of the forty-four sunsets?"

But the little prince made no reply. 

Wednesday, 6 March 2013


13 °C|°F
Precipitation: 0%
Humidity: 58%
Wind: 7mph

Opening the window and just listening to the early morning sounds of the city: 10 minutes

Having a breakfast: 15 minutes.

Looking for a missing lighter: 3 minutes

Lighting a cigarette with a match stick (1st attempt) : 5 seconds

Lighting a cigarette with a match stick (2nd attempt) : 4 seconds

Finally lighting a cigarette with a match stick: 3 seconds

Thinking and wondering while finishing a cigarette: 5 minutes

Deciding whether to use shampoo or body wash for my hair: 30 seconds

Taking a cold shower due to a broken boiler: 16 minutes

Dressing up: 5 minutes

Looking for a missing Oyster Card: 3 minutes

Deciding whether to use brogues or boots: 30 seconds

Coat caught in a loose nail by the door: 6 seconds

Walking to the bus stop at Elgin Crescent: 1 minute and 35 seconds

Waiting for bus 452: due


Waiting for the next bus 452: 3 minutes

Second bus 452: NOT IN SERVICE

Waiting for the third bus 452: 4 minutes

And in that string of events, the minutes and seconds they led me to that very moment. Fate surprises. And chances are like rare stars which are sometimes hard to see in the night sky.

I'm in love with this city not because London is such a beautiful place. I guess I think, the reason is that this city is making me feel that it loves me too. That it can actually give a future for me. Sometimes it's the only thing that you need to know, if the feeling is mutual. Even in relationships, you tend to love even more if you feel that the other person is loving you back, or is holding on. Asking for signs can be sometimes ridiculous. Because you tend to see them even if they're not really there. You sometimes push your self mentally into over analysing things. But fate is different. It is a friend or a lover that surprises us, it's like the change in the wind that can remind us that seasons actually change or in my case this morning, fate could be a bus number 52.

Sunday, 3 March 2013


2 °C|°F
Precipitation: 0%
Humidity: 87%
Wind: 7mph

My most memorable moment of crying was when I was around four years old.

It was suposed to be my first day in school and my mother brought me to meet my teacher. And as I was waiting for them to finish talking, I was watching the other kids playing and seemingly well oriented with each other. I felt that it was another world where I would never fit in. And so when my mother went back and told me that she had to leave me the whole day with an old, stern looking lady and with the company of kids who were more active than me, I begged her to just take me home. My mother, being the most understanding woman that I know, did not ask me any questions and immediately took me home.

I knew that my father would be less understanding. So after he found out what happened, he gave me the beating that a four year old child would never forget. I cried for hours as I nursed the traces of whips on my skin. But it sure did make me stronger. The next day, I was back in the school, a place where I felt really alone for the first time.

It is weird because memories like that are so easy to share to other people, even to strangers at this point in my life. But it is so hard to actually have the courage to say what makes me cry now at my age. When you are a child, I guess crying is more of caused by a certain form of punishment inflicted by another person or by another thing. But now, as a mature individual, most of the time, crying can be caused by self inflicted emotional pain. Whether it's because of a disappointment that we blame on ourself, an unrequited love that we tend to keep, or the pressure of trying to continuously prove one's self to other people.

It is easier to cry as a child because we know for a fact that we have someone to blame for our tears. But as an adult, sometimes in a moment of grief, there is no one else to blame but our own self. Weeping became a symbol of a defeated ego, of weakness. And we are ashamed of this fact so we choose to hide.

When you cry so hard that it hurts your throat, it is out of frustration or of knowing that no matter what you do there is nothing that can really change the situation. And when you feel like you need to cry just to get it out and release the pressure from inside, that is true pain. Weeping on the other hand is even worse. Weeping takes your whole body and when it's over, you feel like there is no bones left to hold you up.

One time I was crying and weeping at the same time. It was terrible and embarrassing. I was on the floor and was pouring all my emotions out. And I asked the universe why it was happening to me. I was a mess. But after I almost poured every tear in my system, and got dehydrated, I got up, dressed up, and went to the nearest hardware store. In 30 minutes I was back in my apartment with 5 liters of paint. And as I was starting to get busy, I realised that whatever happens, life goes on and that crying is just another expression of being human.

And I realised that while I was lying on the marble floor and looking up ahead. No I didn't see the face of God. I saw the unfinished painting on my ceiling.

Friday, 1 March 2013


3 °C|°F
Precipitation: 0%
Humidity: 75%
Wind: 5 mph
Mostly cloudy

It was raining.

I was rushing to get to the underground all bundled up and hoping not to freeze in the streets of London. I didn't bring an umbrella so when I was finally able to reach the station, I was all already drenched. I reached for a copy of Evening Standard stacked right at the entrance of the Barbican Station and headed to the platform.

I was waiting for the train. The circle line is known to be the slowest line in London. A 30 minute travel time can stretch to 40-45 minutes and sometimes even longer when there are unexpected interruptions along the way. I was heading to West of London. So from Barbican, it's quite a while before I reach home.

The train finally came after six minutes of waiting. There were a lot of empty seats in the train at that late hour in the evening. I took a seat in the far end of the carriage and opened the newspaper.

My face was covered between pages 4 and 5 when i felt like someone was looking at me. I folded the newspaper and saw a guy seated across me in the carriage.

He has dark hair, some freckles on his kind face, and his eyes are green, or maybe blue. He was wearing a white buttoned up shirt and he was reading a book.

He looked beautiful.

He seemed very focused on his reading so I watched him and I was trying to get a glimpse of the title of his book. And at one moment, he looked up and saw me.

I was shy then, so when he will look at me, I will look away. Then, afterwards, when I will look back, he will look away...

A few minutes passed, and I had to get off the train.

Got off, the doors closed.

And as the train was pulling away, he looked right at me, and gave me the most incredible smile.

It was awful.

I wanted to tear the doors open.

I thought he was cruel as I left the platform with a heavy heart.

Maybe it's true that strangers are just endearing because we don't know them yet. But It must also be true that meeting strangers can be just utterly meaningless. Unless of course if you are able to enter the individual's world and discover one thing that is special to him. That is enough I think for both of you to go in a mutual exchange of feelings.

Moments between strangers can be very brief but can sometimes last for a long time. I guess it's because sometimes, though it is hard to explain, we find comfort with strangers. Their anonymity is like the space that envelopes us. It is unknown and yet we find solace in it when we are alone. And so when a stranger looks at us or smiles at us, it's like finally meeting that quiet solace for the first time.