Last time I had cried like this incessantly, was when I was in India a month and a half ago, looking at the little rectangles of blue sky through the grills of the old window by our bed. I remember whenever my gasps were no longer quiet, mum or sister would wake up to run their fingers through my hair, because words were so far away to reach.
All these days I had never consciously realized why I wrote a blog. I realize I write because I like to imagine that someone is listening to me quietly. Sometimes I cannot do without the feeling of someone listening to me, no matter how much of an adult I portray to have become. Really, I am afraid. Everything is slipping away, everyone is running away. Do you know this feeling?
There is a tree outside my window- so wonderful and sad that it breaks my heart. I remember I took a black-and-white photo of it in a camera I had bought from a vintage shop here, just for the heck of it, and when I developed it, it was a beautiful shade of grey. Sometimes grey is beautiful, I had thought - like grey clouds, grey hair, greyscale.

Since I returned, whenever I see my tree, I think of dad. Will I see his hair next December? Will I run my fingers through it? Will he, then slowly fall sleep? Or will he look at me with big eyes, smiling sadly? All these make me very restless now.

I paint compulsively in the middle of my nights. But it is only so many postcards I can send home.

Before a new lover will wipe you out

my heart, I wanted to tell you that

this moment is so wonderful and sad

that I wish I could preserve it like a fish
in a beautiful aquarium.