I like my neighbour's house; it's our intimate version of a parallel universe. This is where my kitchen is, the grey dustbin in the same corner - but the view is another room, not trees, and no more children in the house. We are the last ones.
I turned 18 so quickly I did not notice it. It was just my parents and sister and I for my birthday dinner, then long telephone conversations with those I seldom see anymore, lying on the cold marble floor in the dark. This year it does not seem so bad to get older. The next day my mother left on the third trip that is not-exactly-a-holiday. Her mum passed away today. I hate to think of her travelling alone and returning alone because the airport is no longer my rose-coloured portal, it's just going away and losing a bit of yourself each time. Or waiting hours when typhoons in Japan wreck the flights, when no one is familiar.
I went specially to the Montblanc Walk, Don't Run exhibit today and admired the shots of Cate Blanchett, Milla Jojovich, but especially Gisele, who captured unabashedly playful masculinity in every sinew of her movement. Everyone loves their photographs. But when I say - I will miss you and remember you, with this, is it you or what I want to see in you?