Some place in my new apartment holds all the things that I love, which I’d always carry in my bag if I were a nomad: books, paintings, toys, some souvenirs from my home in Peru. Only a couple of bookstands keep the things that I really care about. This special place is also space where I let my eyes linger after a long and discouraging day when nothing seems to be okay.
I just planted my tent in here. I just choose this city. Before, certain circumstances forced me to be somewhere else, as a result of a big lonely exercise of living. I do not want to be ungrateful, those friends I left there – they are irreplaceable and they were with me at the beginning of this unrepeatable adventure. But I certainly wouldn’t do it again. So, here I am, where I am supposed to be. I regret arriving here so late in life but it was impossible to get here before, I would not have been able to succeed while I was younger and had no experience. It’s incredible how my own (supposed) mistakes made me get in here.
I just stopped being scared about this city. I feel it is so alive, so full of stories from people who will tell them to me somehow. I feel love is somehow close to me, in this city full of opportunities I want to grab before the summer goes away. The fear of the unknown is still within me, like a second skin, but it’s accompanied of this weird certainly of a discreet success. I had nothing and now I’m getting my «all» with patience. That thing that is different for each person: inner piece.
Meanwhile, I explore the streets of my new Italian / Montreal new neighborhood, feeling lonely (just for a while, I know), but closer to home.