There is this place I used to go, in my mind. Where I would dream about narrow winding European streets. About the lost generation in a cafe. I think I have let others opinions chip away at the dream or pound it in hard to hide it. Because, when I look at the lives of other people, a minority actually, they are doing or have done the ‘more exotic land’ thing, and it becomes a competition in my mind. But why should it? I mean, I can do all of that and more. And Europe is great, there is so much I have yet to discover!
And this dream that I had. Inspired by the films of Almodovar, and those films I would watch on Wednesdays that summer in college. That deep love of film. That yearn to tell my own stories and turn them into imagery? How do I express that? I am tired.