...for the hundredth time.
I can't help be anything other than what I am: mad and impulsive. I thrive in chaos, I cannot find meaning in order. I need to be reminded every single waking second what it means to be alive. When I become a victim to the routine and mundane my life spirals out of control and leads me down a tornado of self destruction.
One day I woke up in Toronto and realized this isn't the life I want, heck, this is not even close to the life I imagined. So with the help of my brother, I got a one way ticket to the other side. And now here I am back where it all started in the motherland.
It was a fun ride while it lasted, but now I need to write the next chapter. I haven't felt this inspired in ages. I am moved by the simplest of things over here: the way people greet, the traffic jams, the smell of rain on the filthy asphalt, a pinch of saffron here and there, fresh apple and carrot juice, pictures of loved ones hanging from rearview mirrors, slow internet, the endless offers of tea, cafes where they master the art of conversation, the genuine rebelliousness of the youth, nerding out on music and cinema, and most importantly the wild and fearless women. I can go on forever. Maybe it's still my honeymoon phase, but I'm gonna play this out for as long as I can.