Renjun: Day 24, The rain is bothering me. The people are. The bus drivers' assistants, who never know how to help you. The double decker buses that seem to swallow street, lams and bikers easily making the hair on your neck crumble.
I'm meeting the same lady with a dog each morning when I leave for the subway station, I raise up with first down, sleep doesn't work on me anyway. I should really give it all in, the book, the internship, to never ever meet her again, escape into some darkness of a countryside, live like a hermit I really don't know what keeps me going, what keeps me writing each night.
"Hello," I say shyly each day and the lady smiles to me, her dog is cute. I think I might buy a dog one day to have someone, a living being that would walk by my side. But liking someone or something only brings pain, so I guess the dog might be as old as the lady or older, around 80 dog years.
I try my best, I meet workers, immigrants, talk to them a lot, I visited a literary club, bought a trip to Shakespeare's house and tickets for the Harry Potter museum, yes London seems to be the city of writers. The city of individualistic loneliness. No one ever smiles to me in the subway. The crowd just gets our while I wait, I know I need to be careful because my body is small and not really strong, so I need to be clever to not be pushed on the railway by the mass.
I also start to see my weaknesses clearly. I even don't mind spending lonely afternoons in cafes on my own. The deep sadness is still there, but it bothers me less. I start to get used to my own company.
To my own emptiness no one can ever heal.
And from time to time I take the small piece of paper out of my wallet and read the address over and over again.
St. Lucia Street with the number, Palermo
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