Lamma Island, 5:31PM – Sunny.

Entry 77

The birds are singing all around my flat. Flat comes more naturally than apartment. I leave the balcony doors open. It is British Summer and I do not know what to think. Bad things are happening everywhere but maybe not here. Two months of no hangovers sure changes things.

I sent a book of my haiku to a friend. I wrote it two years ago. But surely it was only two months ago I stood in the architecture department of Hong Kong U to have it printed. Two months suddenly feels like a very long time.

I don’t look at the photos on my phone so time becomes an accordion. Close by. Far away. I flip through my journal, and it jars me how recent and un-recent some things are. So, I do not look, even though that is exactly why I keep a journal: to remember when things happened. And so it is circular. Some people say time is circular too. And I cannot be sure of it, time that is.

Standing at the kitchen sink, I look out. A kitchen sink without a window is a special kind of crime. I like the way the trees look through my kitchen windows. The leaves are so green that the branches are almost red. Children’s crayons. I wash the dishes one at a time. I feel like I am watching my hands on a cinema screen. I delete cinema and type movie theatre. Then I delete movie theatre and write cinema again. Which one is the affectation? I cannot be sure. The birds are still singing.

I will make just one more cup of coffee. A squeeze of lemon, another affectation, but one I can be sure of.