It tasted so good yesterday evening and i must admit that it was kind of worth going that far with the subway. Glad i was not, with the long standing, waiting for a girl who showed up one hour later and we meet by accident later. I became moody because we went for a 40 minutes ride on the subway for food I wouldn't taste the difference from anyway. But when my the menu said 'dumplings' i immediately thought about the great things my mother makes, and it turned out that i was right!


This was one of our last dinners with this group of people and that was my main motivation to take that long ride. Some of them, i am sure, i will forget. Others i will think back of with wonder, love and surprise. Forgive my sentimental thoughts. I've had some bad times and experience with people here also. The gossip, the stealing, feeling often left out because of my inability to speak Spanish or another language, they sometimes have made my stay here horrible.


Within two weeks i will leave this country and despite all the good things that it have brought me - experience, knowledge - i would be glad to say that i will not come back here until at least ten years from now. I have seen California and Alabama a few years ago through round trips, and now Boston (New England) for eight months. I think this was enough of the USA for me. I have met here people from other cultures that were always already interesting for me but now even more.


I hope to meet them again. And them i do not even think that much about the people as well as their culture, habits and believes. Close ups: the textures of there food, landscapes and hands of their elders. I want to explorer them and see them more closely within the reach of my hands. Let me not be afraid for alteration, removing from my familiarities and not being here nor there.

He doesn't like it how my moods change faster than the weather in New England. Or how I recently cry to fast just because of the tensions our leaving gives me. He doesn't like it how I sometimes bite him too hard, or how I look or talk about other man. No, I know how he doesn't like that. But I can not help myself and despite his face, his body language, I keep doing those things a front of him.


I don't like it how he talks about his Colombia, the food of his country, his friends and especially his female friends. I know he will see that/them soon more than me, and he might only remember me in the cool shadows of his memory. I will be in a dusty place, where the winds nearly comes to blow away the false memories, so that in the end he only sees me vaguely and when I visit him in his dreams he will think I am stranger carried with the wind. I might kiss his lips, but without response.


There will be times that we are more clearer in each others memories, that we suddenly, be accident, see our faces in the water of a pool by night. And we might sigh than by our lost of times, because when the image fades away of our faces we will see the wrinkles in our own. We will smile about our adolescence love in 'those times'. Not realizing that nothing has been changed since than... only our body's. But we are too far away from one another to confirm that.

English pronunciation outside class by M. (Super-man)

I do not really found it wrong that guns and rivals are been sold in Wal*mart, even though that it is kind of disturbing that they put it right next to the toys department for children, from one child to another? But I do not have a bad attitude against selling guns. I will let that part totally be in control of the USA government, as long as this is not my country and no gun is pointed at me. It doesn’t disturb me to see them and I found it even fascinating (not every day in my country do I see a fake deer to learn to shoot).


I can also understand people with no internet at home, although I will act with surprise and wondering about how it is possible to still not have a computer, since my main source, hobby, enjoyment and outlet of creativity is the computer. But I will totally agree with the calm, the silence without the soft humming sound of the ventilator of the computer, and the disfrustration of illiteracy towards the computer, because by all means I am not one who you can call a nerd. You can give me a book and I would be happier than with any attribute for the computer that you can give me.


Certainly, I was more than excited when one gave me my own website address and space, and with my first own notebook, and the lousy webcam. And I am still glad with them, more because they still help me and enjoy me in my everyday life. But I know that they are not everything. Just as nothing that is made by human hands and made from a fragilely material could mean more than life itself and the attributes (love, relations, experience,…) that make the trip through life worthwhile.


Displaying ignorance towards people without internet at home was wrong from me. But the ignorance that I received back was more than I could handle. What I didn’t understand, why it was sad that internet played such an important role in my life, while none would have said the same thing if it was music that made me drool (or any other 'acceptable' form of receiving pleasure). “No, is internet everything for you? That is sad.” Well, my friends, I never said that it was my everything, but it is the most important material thing in my life, right next to my digital photo camera.

The days are becoming shorter. I lift up and down, walk through the ambushes of my future memories and feel strange, not here nor there, drifting into my destiny.

Now the hot summer is coming I notice by myself strange changes from which I do not know if they are there because of my cycles or because of the weather. I am faster irritated and slap away the flies as I walk like a man in the hot clouds of dust. But I also do kiss more, act more like a woman if I know I am been looking at and enjoy the shadow spots while drinking a milkshake from my last money.

He whisper’s in my ear that he loves me so much, that he will never forget me and never love someone else as much as he does me. I believe him with a little smile of knowledge... that there will come a day that he meets a girl just as great as me, just as beautiful as me and to who he will whisper the same words to as he does to me. Though, I know that he means it now also. That there isn’t anything that I can say that makes his words or love change.


His arms embrace me and I let a tear go as I think of the one month we have together. The most college students already left and it is getting silent here while the summer is galloping the dust out of the streets. I see the orange, red, pink and green summer leaves coloring the trees against a bleu sky and I just wish that this would never end. A wish that I also not hope to become true. Because what would be the value of all this if it wasn’t brittle and forced to an end?


And still I want to change it. The destiny of all of us. Let us be endless in this perpetual mobile of summer. In the heat of our shadows. Although both are the same, I balance between the fear for repeat as well as the fear for change. And I don’t want to let you go, lose your hand on our way. But I want to flee from this place where I have been too long. Today that girl, that we saw, that was here her whole life, scared me as much as a thunder would. Come with me, and leave me behind. Let me move on without you, hold my hand tight.

I can express myself far much easier and better in Dutch (my mother tongue) than in English. Why should I than write in English? It's maybe because it looks more anonymous for me than Dutch which looks to blond and right to the point... thus how we are described by ourselves and foreigners, I do not tend to see myself like that. Only partly. And that part I do not want to see here. I can show that in everyday life if I want.

My hands strike through the soft luxury of a Damast satin colored blanket. I seat myself in a dark red couch with pillows with the color of green seaweeds. And my naked feet touch the wooden carpet. A soft breeze rushes through the open windows while the ventilator is growling like an old dog. A wild bouquet of smells covers the floor in a delicate kind of way. Drawings and painting are mixing with words in my handwriting.