I have had enough of the mountains for now. The change of altitude places me into a state of confusion to which I cannot respond. My perception of time has been stirred, and my body cannot yet adjust to the continental climate – as in the rapid change from warm to cold. On the other hand this climate reflects the mental stability of this country and I like it. There is a lot to learn yet.


In all honesty, my holiday here in Vancouver (apart from visiting my relatives and grandma) is to regain a sense of home and London just to remind myself where I have been and where I am now. I no longer see the significance in where I am from, but where I am going and where I have been. Knowing where I’m from means knowing who I am. And that’s an old story. What matters is who I might become since I’m only looking to grow and clear my chest.

In order to fully focus on that I have to let go of the past year. I don’t know why the only way to face the past is to be near the sea. There is a sense of familiarity and freedom in open water that connects me with the clutter inside my chest, and I see an opportunity to wash it all off me – the sadness and the fears. I need to remove them, yes. Despite knowing that they will always return, I can at least hold on to my philosophy and pretend that I care, no? So I’ll just continue writing about it, but hide it behind your back. Your job is to simply distract me by responding to my smile, because all I will see, then, is yours.


Lately my obsession with numerology is overkill. 229, 13:00, 1660, …

I see numbers I don’t want to see because I’m too chicken to face them with confidence. I don’t know if it’s an insidious approach of an apocalypse or just my imagination. And I’m getting tired of looking for reasons to stay strong. Furthermore, I’ve experienced a series of precognition in the last few days, which, luckily, have only been harmless, but still very unsettling to some degree.


You remember my blog from a couple of months ago about the girl in the mountains and the boy at the sea? They will never be together. But longing for each other emphasizes an even stronger facet of love à la Hemingway style, don’t you think? The Old Man and the Sea meets Hills like white Elephants. There are only images, but no words. I just don’t know how to describe these images to you so you’ll perceive them the way I do. In the end I don’t think anyone is able to do that – understanding each other I mean.

The last page of A Farewell to Arms is the exact equivalent of Vancouver’s autumn weather and I can’t help believing that tomorrow I will light my first cigarette in this country. It’s my own fault for being so disorganized and missing out on autumn in Ontario.

Sometimes I wish I could view things like the majority of people and see beauty in what they see, so I can be part of them and talk about things, but apparently I lack the common sense, because my surgeon sees more beauty and hope in an incision through which the sun shines. But they, they don’t see it.


I want to see some redemptive colors tomorrow to help me let go, please.

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