Now, as I'm getting closer to the end of my fifth year in the furthest possible place from where I was born, raised and lived until past age 25, I have memories of two lives in me, both running as parallel streams and, cross-cutting and therefore piercing each other concurrently. When I am here, the other life is a dream, when I am there this life has never started. In my dreams, I am hanging somewhere spaceless, shapeless, deprived of any kind of form and any indication of time, questioning where I really am, where I really want to be; here or there, there or here. "Neither" is the answer, I find myself repeating. It's almost like I have multiplied, my realities multiplied, the possibilities of my life multiplied, but whatever I used to call "I" or "my/mine" disintegrated into nothingness so not much makes sense anymore other than the very present moment. If I lose that moment from sight a maddening circle of thoughts then starts...  

There is no better way of being present to the moment than looking through the viewfinder of a camera. This is why text -which used to be my primary self-expression medium- left its place to photography. I wish I could become a better photographic artist, since now the limitations of my technical knowledge/abilities become boundaries that I hit and hurt myself for not being able to capture and forward a feeling in its precision. So I lack "touch" but just go.



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