Death of an English Phase

There’s a particular friction that comes with writing in a language your brain isn’t actually running in. You have the thought, then the translation of the thought, and somewhere in that gap the real feeling drains out. I’d been doing it for a while—forcing my thoughts into a different register before I could get them down—and eventually I got tired of it. Some phases just end.

The last few days were good, though. Hung out with my old friend Eniz and his girlfriend, and in some tribute to shared nostalgia we ended up at Lidl twice in the same afternoon. The next morning Dajalein came over; lunch with my former classmate Julia at the Chinese buffet—that particular ritual of piling your plate too high and eating more than you should. The afternoon brought Ana and Daja, and the evening ended with Mille and Dragon Ball GT on the TV. No studying. But the soul needed those hours more than the textbooks did.

All the old entries are back online, by the way. What felt like a hard break turned out to be more of a pause—I couldn’t actually cut the thread. Lost the pictures somewhere along the way, but I’ll work on replacing them.