It’s very hard to wake up from a bad dream.
It took me an hour to understand that it wasn’t today’s story, that my life is built differently.
And above all, that my body never lived through that moment.
I took a shower, made my breakfast, got dressed. But nothing worked.
The dream kept haunting me.
So I shot this portrait.
It helped.
And I stepped out of the nightmare.
I’m doing little check-ins on my year (I was told it’s ending soon). I’m very happy, very tired, very happy. Surprisingly, I think I managed to work while also taking care of myself.
I’m back in Paris. And I woke up this morning and cried.
I dream of Hawaii, I dream of them, of that, of being there, of the colors and the life.
As if nothing else had ever existed.
They tell me, to help, that it’s still there, somewhere deep inside me. But I don’t believe it, I don’t want to live forever at a distance.
I woke up today in a city drawn in black and white,
not realizing how lucky I am to see it at all.
An island at the end of the world, and yet it feels home, even though home isn’t here.
Even though it’s far, and it takes hours in airports, taxis, airport trams, waiting at boarding gates, standing in Starbucks lines with heavy bags weighing down my shoulders.
But somehow, it’s so easy, so within reach, always there.
Nothing has changed, and I wish you could see it.
