BACK HOME.

London was ok. Some highlights. Some lowlights. Thanks to the Mars Bars, the bus number 10 that would take me from Picadilly to the West, Alister, the kids that were there for me, specially Tomás, and “The Sanctuary”.

Fuck you Toms, you kept my sweater and didn’t even deign to say goodbye.

I guess it’s always hard the first time.
The fact that I didn’t have any fucking internet access in my stupid apartment was a real drag. I can't believe the amount of hours I spent in this really crappy cyber-cafe, sitting next to pervs watching soft-porn and foreigners like me trying to hear their loved ones on Skype, while shouting back to them through their microphones.
I felt very lonely most of the time.
I bought a lot of second hand clothes. That's what I do when I need comfort.

I woke up on Monday morning and it was time to leave. I took the Eurostar to Paris and spent the day there. Shona came with me all the way to the airport just to say goodbye.
I noticed this strange feeling I always have. It’s something like a mixture between the anxieties generated by the highly anticipated return, a bit of fear, and possibly a bit of disappointment. I know that disappointment sound a bit harsh. But it’s really hard for me to describe it differently. Is like, there’s always a feeling of not being able to achieve as much as I wanted. I think that’s kind of the case.
I was home the next morning.

The landscape of the city of Buenos Aires comes across like a mural from Klimt’s “Golden Phase”. The setting sun transforms the countless genre-less buildings into a magnificent composition, turning the grimy walls into the luminescent little pieces of a delicate mosaic.
I step out to the balcony and lean over the railing. I can feel the summer breeze bringing ease to the suffocated city spreading in front of me. I take a deep breath and smell the air. It’s a smell I’m so familiarized with.

It’s easier every time. The comeback. The going back to real life thing. I was in deep need of home. It was easier this time.

It’s not so simple though. There are decisions to be made. And many things look disturbingly strange; many things feel disturbingly strange. Like if this was not exactly my life either. Like it’s a bit of a loan. Except for Max, he’s my anchor.

I can’t really think. I feel my head is heavy, and it’s getting harder and harder to focus on anything.

I’m going out tonight. I’m going back to the club I always go to. I hope I’ll have some fun. My friends are gonna be there. I like them so much.

My manager is talking to me on msn. There’s something very important he needs to discuss with me, and he wants to meet me next weekend. He always does that. He makes me wait. Like, “hey kid, I just had this conversation with your bookers from XXX and there’s a couple of things we should talk about – like if I had done something awful, like if they just realized that I’m ugly as hell and they can’t work with me anymore – and then he says “I’ll explain later, let’s meet some day”. I used to get super angry. I couldn’t just drop it and wait for a few days until he would finally release the information. Now I’ve finally learned to just not care. I’m done with frustration.

Another of my friends is talking to me as well. She’s such a sweet girl and I think she is awesome. We couldn’t help mentioning university though. Immediately after I felt myself being dragged down to the underground. I really don’t feel like planning out my life on a random Saturday night.

I’m slowly starting to get a grip on my current situation. Life goes on.