Well well well, I’ve the time to write now. It’s cold here, and yesterday it rained a lot. It was beautiful.

It’s so interesting how a place can look so different and everyone can feel so different when your mind is looking at things differently. Some people are friendly, while others mind their own business. Still, others don’t want to socialize. Same as anywhere else on earth. Same as with all the people I know all over the world. It’s really interesting.

It’s nice to just sit there and not do anything at night in my room. The cold winds outside move the branches against the wooden panels of the house at night, while during the day the rain pours down the entire house and the windows are splashed with dozens of drops of water every second. Life becomes slow, and you don’t realize it. The whole day goes by and it doesn’t go fast, and it doesn’t go slow. It doesn’t go normal even; you don’t realize at all that the day is passing by, let alone know how fast it’s going. It’s just going; you’re not focusing on the day itself. You’re focusing on yourself and the things you’re doing and seeing.

What am I doing here? Why am I going through these stages of life to live life itself? Life is headed the same way for everyone, and we all try to pass time by doing things simply to kill the boredom. I could’ve stayed at home, doing nothing and posting on this site and eating and sleeping. However, would that have been good? Or is the option I followed a good one, where I’m away in a different place, trying to live life as if I was back home?

I’ve been acting in my own mind as if I haven’t left at all, and this is just another day back home. Do I even have a real home? I’ve moved from one place to another since I was a kid, and everything looks so volatile and unstable. It’s really beautiful how we can make the best of what we have, whether we got it by aiming for it or we ended up with it somehow, instead of trying to live life hoping for tomorrow. I’m like everyone else, really. Just because the thoughts and aims are different, doesn’t mean I’m an alien from outer space. Oh yes, so I hold my umbrella in the rain differently when I’m walking alongside people from the Bay. I take out my umbrella after I’ve been soaked for a while on purpose, just to enjoy the rain. So I slip on every metal grate in the area because of my slippery shoes, and I haven’t bled from my brains because of it yet. So I don’t give attention to a girl at the restaurant after she’s been wasted with her friends; that’s ok, since life isn’t all about breaking commitments and having sex. So I don’t like anyone treating animals weirdly; big deal, we all act like machos in front of weaker people anyhow. So I call people just to see if they’ve recovered from an illness; it doesn’t mean anything other than the fact that I’m a friend and I want to care. Quiet time is golden time, and time alone is golden too. Time with friends is golden, and time with no one around is golden too. Making good new friends is golden, and seeking time alone is golden too. I’m still a human being, just like everyone else, and I try to follow both of the golden paths.

Something is happening. What is it? I don’t know. I’m writing a book about it; I was originally going to finish it by the end of this year. I guess I’ll have it finished sometime next year. Writing books has been on my mind for ages; I’ve over 4 books in works, and they always get delayed; again, and again, and again. Life comes up with something beautiful to observe, something beautiful to do. Everyone’s busy, yet everyone has time at the same time. How do we define our concept of time without mentioning the word time itself? How can we realize how important time is, when we don’t know what time it besides the watch on our wrist or the clock on the wall or the time on our monitor screens? People call when they’re bored, and when they’ve an alternate person to pass time with, you become a distant memory. When you’re remembered again, you are told that they’re sorry for not keeping in touch, and then they move on again. Life is a cycle, going in an unpredictable path, and going in the right direction.

I posted an ad on craigslist yesterday to test something, since I’d nothing better to do. I first posted an ad looking for someone to pass time with; movie, dinner, something and anything good to pass time, either in the morning or the afternoon. No responses the whole day and this morning. Then this morning I posted the same ad, yet this time for the test I asked for people to go out drinking and partying and then sleeping together, if that comes to happen. The post gets deleted within 3 hours, but before that happens, I get 7 emails. 2 guys and 5 girls. It’s beautiful, really beautiful. Not the sex part or people simply looking to get wasted. No, it’s beautiful that I’m an extinct species, and that I’m looking for things that aren’t easy to find and probably don’t exist at all. I always believed my entire life that it was the journey, not the destination that counted. I don’t know anymore; maybe it’s the destination, or maybe it’s both the journey and the destination. Maybe neither of them is important, and the thing that counts is completely different. Who knows and who cares, right? We’ve got all our life to figure that out, and we’ve got all our life to do something else at the same time. Maybe I’ll live for a lot of decades more, or maybe I’ll live for another hour. Life is unpredictable; any kind of accident can happen and we’ll be gone. Heart attack, drowning, suffocation, normal death, murdered, killed, stabbed, crushed. All different names and concepts for the same end that everyone is heading towards. The beauty not in focusing on how it ends, but on focusing on right now; on what we do with our time this very instant. Should I write this paragraph, or should I go eat since I’m hungry, or should I go call a few people to pass time, or should I go shop around, or should I go sleep, or should I go sit somewhere and just relax? Choices, choices, choices. So many of them, and we always end up with one of them.

We set our alarms controlling the amount of time we sleep, and we control our behavior to impress others. We try to predict how much we’ll spend in one month, and we try to plan how many babies we’ll have. We try to count the number of days since the last fight with our love one, and we try to predict what’s going to happen at a certain party when meeting someone new. We try to predict what weather it’s going to be, and we try to predict which shirt is going to look good depending on the occasion. We try to predict the questions on a test, and we try to predict the questions that might be asked at an interview. We predict everything, yet life itself is unpredictable. Do we enjoy it, or do we do nothing? Do we destroy it, or do we think about what it could mean? Any of these choices or any other choice, and life is still heading in the same direction that it has been heading for us since we were born. Born, that’s a funny word; we count our life as having started when we came out of the holy womb into this world. Yet, in reality, we were already in this world sometime before we were “born”, inside a womb, simply waiting there quietly, and peacefully, passing the most peaceful and beautiful time we’ll ever experience. Everything outside is just like the universe; becoming more chaotic and unpredictable.

I think I know our destination, yet I don’t know the path. I’m 25 years old now, and my friends think I’ve an answer for everything. Yet I’ve more questions in my mind than a penguin who hasn’t seen or eaten fish for 25 years and has survived on alternative foods. I know life is interesting, and I know life is beautiful. Penguin Penguin Penguin, a nickname I’ve gained for reasons really interesting. Even the Penguins don’t want to face a cold storm, even when they know if they try hard, they can survive it and they try hard whether or not they actually survive it or not. Even the Penguins love the harsh life. Even the Penguins find beauty in everything. Even the Penguins risk it all for others around them.

Even the Penguins have a heart. And even the Penguins feel cold. Yes, the Penguins do feel cold, every time, all the time.