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in those moments when you realize that the life you have recently left behind is not only on a different continent, but ina completely different time zone, does then your brain and physical being start to act differently?
what would you say if you knew another language? how would you express yourself? where are those anchors of daily life that now seem so far away? how do you start to be yourself, when everything around is both amazingly familiar and alien at the same time?
i have as of late began to realize that i cannot keep to the task of keeping a written journal. for some reason it only appeals to me the fact that i could possibly look back upon some respectable volume of entries at some far date in the future, but at the moment, i cannot find the proper motivation to sit and paste and perfect this miniscule tome even past the first page.
so i write by hand
on small pieces of paper that may be laying around the office or i happen to have in my pockets at the time. i write thoughts down, observations of every varying degree, and tiny scenes. little openers for scenes that have as of yet to be cinematically realized, but the thinking being that if i can come up with enough of these ideas, i can begin to weave together some semblance of a story or narrative that i can conceptualize, create, have, and eventually share.
life is strange when you are farther away from yourself than you have ever been. the funny thing is you never have ever felt closer to yourself too.
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