Writings

I gradually realize how uneasy it can be to congeniate with a person across an age gap.

I’m riding my bicycle. I cross paths with Roger Moore.

Every now and then a memory comes, a gust of air pushing against my chest, bringing moments I thought were gone...

A meditation on stillness — the hour between midnight and dawn when the city exhales and everything becomes possible...

What remains. What disappears.

I was staying in a hotel room, a temporary kingdom of borrowed walls and anonymous furniture.

My emotional tune is being disturbed by the outside noise, senseless conversations and unfounded comments.

I can barely remember her face. Angular beauty, a blue dress, sun-warmed skin, black hair.

I was walking with a young girl.

A day like this… longer than I can remember, I arrived, protected and guided, but with no belongings and no memory or desire of what I could become.

For many years, I've been marinating to become the person I am now, crossing the threshold of time repeatedly.

I am still traveling across an emotional storm front—a combination of internal questions, the human condition, and contemplation.

There's a redundancy of life in me, bottled up inside yet constantly coming out...

What does a life well lived actually mean?

Some people are naturally rude; others are persistent in their intent, but I think it is the polite ones who eventually get what others cannot receive in their lifetimes.

We think we understand corruption, but corruption has other ideas, and it is in its nature not to answer to anyone.

Lately I am questioning my sanity.

This unpleasant company I endure frustrates me wherever I go.