It costs me to get back to the normalcy - if any normalcy exists, will ever exist in my life. I've spend the last days between Andalusian music, religious content and erotic dreams. Looking carefully into what I dream of, since they are likely to bring issues into my life, realities shaped by the colour, texture and quality of my dreams. Can I dream better? With deeper insight and greater intelligence?
I started to appreciate Tinder, after all, and I'm musing how lives could have been different, if it existed. My mother's life, for instance, or my own early life. How lives could have been different with these two blessings: contraceptives and Tinder. And the culture of using smartly the opportunities they provide. It's time to return to my books, my studies. To write again. I want to take up my things where I have left them, send articles to distant journals, live in the world, in those open, global horizons that tempt me so much. But the Andalusian shadow is hanging over my life, and it doesn't dissipate.
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