So, the other day someone made me think that it looks like I'm still in Bali, which, well, not exactly. I am a bit more down south... learning a lot about myself, seeing amazing places, getting bored, drinking a bit too much wine, not showering in a few days, reading a lot, writing more than I thought but less than I want, watching tennis, seeing gorgeous people, watching weirdos dancing in the streets high as kites, getting my heart a bit broken, knowing amazing friends. 

And making one of my dreams come true: I'm in the middle of a road trip, the easy part already done, but tomorrow, a month after landing here, I'll be even more down under because I highly doubt the desert has internet reception (and if it has I'll feel a bit cheated). 

I have my camera and more film rolls (cheap ones because everything turns to be quite expensive in here) so I hope all of them, and me, survive the next stretch. 

See you on the flip side!


10 of 12 (from January to October)

It's been months since I've been to the lab, any lab, and despite the fact that I'm saving rolls that I hope don't spoil (there's been a few... accidents), I still don't know what the results are going to look like. I miss seeing the results of my film shots, even if they are not amazing. 

So, a bit of a remember of how this past year has been, hoping that the next ones I post are a bit better, that I learned something along the way :)






01_La volta llarga

O-AF10 006






What to do with all this? All this open water rushing through me, as if a dam has been broken apart. All this energy, all this synergy, all this promise of everything (life, love, learn) that has me zipped open from the inside out? 

What should I do with the zumming under my skin? Once cracked, this years old mud that had me paralyzed and unable to apprehend my world, is now crumbling all around and the dust is vibrating non stop in search of something. Some direction, some useless meaning, maybe only just a road, maybe just a home.

It feels like the momentum has been piling up, going back has become an impossibility and a hummingbird is prying open the cage inside my chest. 



I have the impression that Singapore doesn't really exists as an entity in itself, that is more of an invention, a fiction made of money and colonialism, but a sort of fiction nonetheless. I'm not discarding the hard facts about the river and the traders, and the chinese, the malay and the english history (even the japanese), but there's something like a fictional narrative going on about the place. All places have one, that's true, but maybe it's the fact that 30 years might not be enough time to settle down that fiction.  

And funnily enough it's for fictional reasons that I mostly remember the city: I remember seeing the second movie of The Hobbit, I remember inventing some amazing story about how the Cloud Forest of Gardens by the Bay was actually an experimental ship ready to launch to space with specimens from a few of the different habitats of the world, and I remember Books Actually and reading, reading, making up tons of stories in my head, like it was about to burst. I guess that's why I tend to forget I was actually there. 

Dreamlike and fictional, not really 'there' or 'here' in the same sense (or intensity) that the rest of places in Asia felt like. My own little rabbit hole, but on a direct line to my head.