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Showing posts from 2017

This man

These are the songs that let me be. These are the words that spoke to me. These are the tears that cleared my vision and made me see that  these are the wounds that spurted the lava that melted my heart. This is the man I grew into. The man I once drew. He's walking me forth through the day with a pace sometimes unfamiliar. And sometimes I wonder: where on Earth is he leading me to? This is the man. The man who is now drawing you.

Carry-on

Sleep-laden eyelids. Eyeballs covered with the thick sticky syrup of lethargy...itching. The vulgar yellow light panels at the airport signposted a labyrinth of lies. They promised you a homecoming but took you to...the baggage hall. Sleepwalkers, just like you, are trapped in this upside-down, this detention limbo of almost-home-but-not-there-yet. You count the disconnected pairs of itchy eyes, evacuated by the flicker of life, transfixed on a perpetually revolving empty belt. The conveyer of your belongings. A carousel of the no-fun kind, no frills, no golden horses and fairies, only steel and black rubber. Welcome to the longest minute sequence of your life. It is past midnight and your very last train is departing soon. But wait...the PVC slash curtains are now bulging with suspense and the flicker of life graces your itchy eyes again. One by one, the bags of your fellow sleepwalkers appear on the carousel, like stage-fright ridden members of a rock band after a dramat

Wishbone

For Brian It was a bright sunny morning in San Diego and the day held a mysterious promise, like a surprise wrapped in a clenched hand begging me to unlock it finger by finger. I had just eaten the richest omelette ever imaginable paired with the sweetest blueberry pancakes and I was in the middle of a kiss more nourishing than sustenance, when I heard a voice. "Forgive me for interrupting you", the voice said. "Could you spare some money to buy me something to eat?" The voice belonged to a man who looked like a messiah of sorts: longish-hair, dark-complexion, haggard body clad in baggy black garments. A man who, as it turned out later, went by the name of Chris. Was there an extra "t" at the end of this name that remained silent? One couldn't help but wonder. Something about hIs humble approach made his ask remarkably audible. I didn't have any cash on me and there was no supermarket around us, so I turned my back on Chris and start

#LoveIsLove

On my way to the city this morning, my eyes sparkled at the sight of the grand rainbow slogan  # LoveIsLove  proudly crowning Tottenham Court Rd tube station. I was surprised and impressed. An inclusive slogan of such proportion was more likely to be spotted in my former home Amsterdam. It was a bold statement with beautiful design bringing warmth and colour to the busy London crossroad and its hustle and bustle. I tried to take a snap of it, one that would do it the justice, b ut gave up in the end. I am not good at shooting postcards when I can't attach a story to them. Just as I was processing this thought, an attractive trans-woman walked past me. Her elegant attire emphasised her femininity. Her gait was proud. There was a quiet strength to her appearance. Unsurprisingly, I was not the only one who registered that. Two middle-aged British ladies paused their Sunday stroll to Primark in what seemed like utter shock, craned their necks in the direction of the disappearing b