flow/er by Alexa Sirbu and Lukas Vojir

This might be the most accurate representation I’ve seen of what the inside of my brain looks like in my waking moments.

It’s turbulent, chaotic, doesn’t deal well with data yet beautiful and full of miracles. Thank you.

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red, orange, yellow

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A long weekend that felt like an entire week of battle, bracing imaginary storms of hardened flesh of clenched muscles, relentless anxiety, heart palpitations and the life-draining flow of blood, an endless red flood between my thighs.

My mind is in a thick jungle, through the canopy blinks of sunshine, erratic twinkles with false promises of the clearing where glory can pour its rays on me, the light flood of bliss that never occurred.

The tangle of nerves and irrational fears presents a veil that shrouds my vision in gloom, placing everything in blind spots, including the yellow jug in the direct path I embarked on to launch myself up a volume on the wall, the perfect collision with the right side of my eye, red raw skin, the delayed flood of pain slowly washing over the tiny crater in my face.

But I know, only when I float like a driftwood on the currents of the flood then will there be no more blood, some pain and all glory.

Tabulating Adulthood

Losses
1. Old friends with different values and outlook
2. Disposable time and energy
3. Capacity of tasks on the plate
4. Good quality sleep
5. Intensity of legitimate emotions

Gains
1. Freedom of choices
2. Clarity of what your heart says
3. New friends with shared values and interests
4. Disposable income for hobbies
5. Purpose driven energy

The Nice Non-Kuta Places of Bali

A scrawny guy, megawatt smile on his sun bronzed face, waved his skinny tattooed arms over-enthusiastically as we approached the beach cafe. Ushering us to our seats, armed with menus, he asked the usual, “Where you from?”

“Singapore.”

His eyes lit up and sparkled with a glow that I couldn’t quite comprehend.

“Oh! Singapore. I have a friend in Singapore,” he exclaimed which still failed to explain that peculiar twinkle in his eyes.

Laurencia asked for the bathroom and upon her departure, the scrawny guy sat down beside me and looked at me with those eyes. “Is he your brother?”

An odd question. “No, we are friends.” I answered, regarding him warily. I thought the flirts only existed in lovely Kuta. My reponse seemed to have stoked the strange flames in his eyes. In a manner which felt like an oft-performed script, he launched into his pitch.

“I work here. I earn little money.”

“Singapore is very good. But I have no money to go there.”

“Maybe you can bring me there, buy me tickets to go there visit you.”

“I can make you happy happy. We do anything you want. If you happy, I happy.”

That was when it hit me.

On Balangan Beach, Bali, in a cafe overlooking the massive waves constantly crashing into the shores, I listened to the first sugar baby sales pitch of my life. I cannot have asked for a more dramatic, a more perfect backdrop to be pimped to.

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