Homesickness

I feel lonely. And the worst part is I communicate with myself via foreign language. Unfamiliar. Suddenly, I have no postion to look at this world. Perhaps I've never understood this world. I'm in the between for a long while, western and eastern, warm and cold, tender and cruel, childlish and mellow, autistic and sociable; with happiness and sadness.

Confuse. The verb. Nevertheless I can react is immediately moving my heart, with my spirit, by my soul. Body is useless, tongue is poorness. I wish I could be brilliant in the beginning, but I present my personality which can only be able to interpret by myself, yet I don't even appreciate myself. "Appreciate", what an ambiguous word.

I miss mom and dad. Especially my father; but the strangeness is I didn't even talk to my dad very often. At home, we talked just few words like " morning; have you had dinner?" Something like that. Such as me and my temporary Chinese landlord. Nothing but nod. However, I really desire to talk to my dad. I don't know, unreasonable.

Maybe at the bone in the blood I'm his son and he is my pa. Gene, DNA, descent; whatever we called, it's distiny, and next time I phone home I'll tell him "don't give the phone to mom, I want to talk to you for a long time, and we won't say so long."

*Photo taken at unknown hotel, Brussell.*

Orange County; Day 001.

第一天。週日。At Utrecht centraal station I saw couples homeless used the pipe just front the policeman's face; and youth hostel's female reception looks like Dodge Ball's female awful player；高壯，眉毛連成一線的粗濃。店家們休憩著；當然偶爾街上咖啡館內聞來“飯”味飄香。M當勞很貴；薯條鹽巴很少且沾索費的芥末美乃茲。炒麵鹹膩牛肉硬朗；果然老外唐食。Everybody looks chic, everybody looks free。路邊電話亭冒出的禿頂絡腮鬍男子不穿超人服襯洋裝，擦腳指甲油不著鞋，揀地上垃圾不飛天。無所事事地騎車閒晃險迷走。晚間，Strowis' lobby三四款膚色五六種語言傳著。燈火依舊閃爍，風雨片羽滴落。家室還在未知的遙遠邊緣盡處不定。這一夜。