Today has been our last day of class at the Japanese Language Center. What seemed like a numb routine stuck forever in a scratched vinyl record is suddenly over.
Is that good or bad news?
So used to say Cora around the end of autumn whenever she saw me going out with wet hair.
Yesterday morning, the temperature in Bogotá was -4°C.
No, this is not Colombia. This is a warmer place.
Update: -8ºC. Do not expect a lot of flowers for Valentines Day.
I can see him. I can see daylight while I’m immersed in darkness. His soft voice comes to me with little delay, assuring me there is nothing to be scared of.
Time feels like an endless ocean, us standing on opposite shores; but with every tick of the clock a grain of sand comes afloat, and peninsulas begin to grow like steady branches on a soft horizontal tree. We stand facing each other, eyes closed, breathing in the salty wind whose wild dance is only the prelude to a memory. The beaches surrounding either side remain unexplored, enticing, but we know they could never be as interesting as they would be if they let two pairs of footprints fade into the water.
One day, when we least expect it, the marine scent will be replaced by that of fresh grass, and we’ll walk into an isthmus in the midst of which we are to run into each other’s arms, into the promise of a vast horizon to leave behind.
I can see him, but I can’t. And I wish I could build that seemingly impossible strip of land with my own bare hands.
It’s almost February.
According to my experience, February is the coldest month of the year. January is also very cold.
Where are my gloves? … One pair is still unpacked, one is lying in some bag, and one is hanging from my wall.
Where are my hats? … Conveniently placed on top of the bookshelf, along with small empty boxes and a summer hat.
Where are my winter boots? … Beside the newer ones. I wear them sometimes.
What’s happening to our planet? Why are cherry trees blooming, why are bears not sleeping?
The weather is so lovely, so similar to an average Bogotá morning, it is scary. I feel guilty for enjoying it this much, I feel guilty for the smile that bursts out the moment I come out into the morning sun. Am I supposed to be feeling at home so far away from home? I don’t think so.
Maybe it’ll finally get bad in February. If so, I’ll be somewhat relieved to curse a sun under which my numb hands find no warm comfort.