home

Back home after three weeks in 中国 i feel a little numb. Long trips always leave in their wake an aftertaste that's difficult to define, huge distances that appear reduced to nothing when half the world can glide beneath you in a day and everything can so easily return to what it was. As life's gone on undisturbed in your absence you can't help but notice what little weight your existence carries.

And from the plane, staring down at the seemingly endless blanket of yellowish unremarkable lights that is london, the only pathetic thought i could conjure was that L was down there somewhere and that my birthday had come and gone with not a message from him. For over a month now i have stopped actively seeking contact with him, aware that any of my futile attempts to reach him will always leave me feeling unhappy and the contact i need will never be there.

Then the moment comes, when the plane touches the ground, when the city literally hits you and shakes your world. But my mind was simply tired. All i could think about was that i wanted to go home and be with my family of friends, that my boyfriend was once again thousands of miles away and that monday i have to go to work.

i guess the plane has jetlagged the kink out of me... give me a couple of days