I am in love with Kreuzberg. I love the tight knittedness of the locals and the magnificent smell of roasting lamb meat at the doner kebab stands, of oil. The sight of leisurely old men having an afternoon beer. I am in love with the golden rays that shines directly onto the buildings' dust encrusted facade and how quickly they turn different shades of pink and cream and blue.
Airports remind me of Love Actually. The whole sending-off, reunion, emotional deal that makes airports interesting. A woman is crying, her mascara is beginning to run as she hugs another woman goodbye. Her face prunes up. I'm gonna look away now, I hate seeing people cry.
Mmmh. The things I get myself into. It's like the chicken pox, only no oatmeal baths.
I'm trying to keep a poker face on but Mert's driving is scaring me shitless right about now. All American Rejects is playing and he's having a grand ol time. My heart's palpitating like crazy. My palms are sweaty. Turkish drivers are like Vietnam moped drivers, minus the moped and insert giant moving metal death traps instead. It's hot and I'm trying to enjoy this but I keep seeing my life flash before my eyes.
It's a whir of noise in here. I'm thinking of mom and how much she'd probably love this place right now, spices and herbs galore. It's a heavy smell and I think of old chinese ladies with crow feet and gray hair and soft hands. Mom used to take me with her to these chinese herb stores on Jackson. They'd grab my arm and pat my hand, grinning their toothy (some missing) smiles. A guy just asked me where I'm from. "America." No, where in Asia? "Oh, Vietnam." Do you know this? "Instant cherry flavored tea?" Yes, very good.
"Sunny days sweeping the clouds away..." I'm often asked why I feel sad when I hear of stranger's death. Sorry if I have a sense of compassion? Our feet quietly pat across the stone laid pavement. "Those who are scared of death don't know a thing about living." Cement everywhere. "Up above the sky remained blue."
Everything echoes in here, I swear I can hear my own breathing. I almost expect these opened mouths to start releasing cries from their O's. How eerie. How enclosed is this space. I can hear footsteps approaching and its making me realize that I do have a route of escape after all.
I am in love with Kreuzberg. I love the tight knittedness of the locals and the magnificent smell of roasting lamb meat at the doner kebab stands, of oil. The sight of leisurely old men having an afternoon beer. I am in love with the golden rays that shines directly onto the buildings' dust encrusted facade and how quickly they turn different shades of pink and cream and blue.
Airports remind me of Love Actually. The whole sending-off, reunion, emotional deal that makes airports interesting. A woman is crying, her mascara is beginning to run as she hugs another woman goodbye. Her face prunes up. I'm gonna look away now, I hate seeing people cry.
Mmmh. The things I get myself into. It's like the chicken pox, only no oatmeal baths.
I'm trying to keep a poker face on but Mert's driving is scaring me shitless right about now. All American Rejects is playing and he's having a grand ol time. My heart's palpitating like crazy. My palms are sweaty. Turkish drivers are like Vietnam moped drivers, minus the moped and insert giant moving metal death traps instead. It's hot and I'm trying to enjoy this but I keep seeing my life flash before my eyes.
It's a whir of noise in here. I'm thinking of mom and how much she'd probably love this place right now, spices and herbs galore. It's a heavy smell and I think of old chinese ladies with crow feet and gray hair and soft hands. Mom used to take me with her to these chinese herb stores on Jackson. They'd grab my arm and pat my hand, grinning their toothy (some missing) smiles. A guy just asked me where I'm from. "America." No, where in Asia? "Oh, Vietnam." Do you know this? "Instant cherry flavored tea?" Yes, very good.
"Sunny days sweeping the clouds away..." I'm often asked why I feel sad when I hear of stranger's death. Sorry if I have a sense of compassion? Our feet quietly pat across the stone laid pavement. "Those who are scared of death don't know a thing about living." Cement everywhere. "Up above the sky remained blue."
Everything echoes in here, I swear I can hear my own breathing. I almost expect these opened mouths to start releasing cries from their O's. How eerie. How enclosed is this space. I can hear footsteps approaching and its making me realize that I do have a route of escape after all.
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