I still catch the smallest string trembling in any piece of music.
I get lost in the smallest details of life.
There was a first Oxfam walk. Then another. And then the sky cracked open — and I stepped out, falling alone through silent air.
I wrote to the immigration department, asking them to remind me of every place I had been.
A list to remember.
Countries passed like changing seasons. People arrived — Europeans, Americans, Asians, Australians, Indians.
The more difference I felt, the closer I became.
The closer I became, the more distant I felt.
The distance felt real. I didn’t know I was only on my way back.
When you are there, why even ask “Who am I?” It’s dark — but that’s what I was always searching for.
I moved across places, people, and identities — only to realize I never actually left.
Craving roared through me, hungry for everything. I pointed my laser into the future. It bent quietly and fell back to where I already was. I didn’t see it then.
Most of my life was wild, wrong, and starving for more.
Have I changed? No. Do I still feel it? Yes. Am I still good at it? Yes. Everything is the same. Only whether I act on it has changed.
We teach our eyes not to spill.
We remember the pain. Not because it’s gone — but because we learned not to feel it.
We teach ourselves to fly higher. I did too. It was just falling — from a different height.
I missed my sibling somewhere in the noise.
My parents are growing old in a language I no longer speak fluently.
Relationships arrived like brief rain on dry skin — kind, but never enough to stay.
The deeper the knowing, the lighter the hands become.
We learn not to notice. It helps. It looks like success.
You don’t end where you began. But you don’t leave either.
When every win quietly reminds you what it cost, the only future that still feels honest to me is an old RX 100, empty roads, a city half-asleep, no one watching, no one waiting.
Just movement.
And for once — nowhere to get to.