The arrival

It was beyond her comprehension how she ended up in that situation. What was she thinking accepting a deal like that? Her arrival to that wedding was the grave of her freedom. She was tempted to ask the driver to turn back, to leave at once and let her flee to her freedom, maybe to a not-so-prosperous future but at least she would be free to make her own choices.

Kyoto, February 2016. Fuji Instax 210.

Bahnhof Friedrichstrasse

When my train reaches Berlin, will you be waiting on the platform of the station for me? Will you be willing to forgive and forget all the silly mistakes I made?

I imagine your slender figure, your face standing out of the many impatient faces on the platform, your awkward smile on your lips trying to restraint your feelings, the crazy hair and that fixed gaze of yours.

Cozy

It was her favourite spot in the house, that little corner with all her memories framed, the white sofa, light entering through the curtains, and that big cozy blanket, always ready to accompany her with a steaming cup of tea.

LC-A + Ilford HP5 Plus

Sleepless night

I can’t sleep. It’s one of those moments in my life that whenever I go to bed I just toss and turn hopelessly. I stare at the white ceiling, remembering the star stickers I used to have many years ago, how I look at their luminescence waiting for the sleep to come. Whenever I felt distressed or worried about something, I just stare at the stars, until I finally fell asleep.

Lubitel 166B + Ilford Delta 400

The Window

Once I visited a town, a northern town, where old brick houses could tell many horror stories of desperation.

One of them caught my eye. By the window I saw a figure through the white curtains. She was staring out, completely frozen, her gaze fixed on the children playing with a football in the street. I stopped looking for a fragment of a second as the football almost hit me, and when I stared back, the window was empty, just the white curtains retaining the smallest of movement as the figure left.

My job kept me occupied most of the time, but I tried to visit that window a few times a week, then everyday, and as I grew obsessed with the figure I couldn’t help to scape work to visit The Window. I was supposed to stay in that northern city for a couple of weeks, but I kept postponing my return, I just wanted to see the figure, the mysterious woman I saw everyday, always staring out The Window, inexpressive, through the curtains, hoping she would look at me at last.

Finally she looked back. She looked back!!! Her dark eyes focused on me as a smile run through her face, I felt a shiver as she smiled more and more, her pale hand touching the glass of The Window, her gaze upon me kept me frozen at the other side of the street. I even remember hearing an eerie piano music coming out of that brick house before it turned into a whistle, a high pitch that finally made me collapsed.

The next thing I remember is the bright light of what seemed a hospital, and me asking as from the most remote of places where was the woman I saw. “No one has lived there in the last century” I heard. But I knew I saw her, I saw her by The Window.

Ring ring

I’ve always been afraid of the sound of the telephone. It means bad news. And no-one, especially me, wants bad news. 

My phone, as it happens in many houses, is at the end of the corridor, like a totem, all alone on a table made just for it, as a king, the king who looks at his servants with disdain. The telephone controls us all, with its silence and its continuous black cloud of news, of bad news. From the moment you enter the house, you can feel its presence, the power it holds. If it was a person you could even see it scoffing at you, oh powerless mortal waiting forever for a call with the bad news you fear so much. 

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Where the witches live

Near the way to the mountain, not so far from the village, there’s a path that leads to a stream hidden under the grass and ferns. Only the eldest of the village remember the story of the Witches who lived beyond the boundaries of the forest, following up the stream and under the old oak tree. There, just there, lay the entrance to an unknown world of mystery.

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Sumi

Sumi was a little girl so kind and good everybody thought she was a descendant of the Gods. With her hair silver as the moon in a summer night and her skin as white as the snowy winter, Sumi lived to be loved and treasure by everyone in the village. Her parents gave her a blue kimono that represented the flow of a river that is time, in an attempt to make her live forever.

But Sumi’s heart was obscure and full of fears, so many years has been she adored that a wall was built inside of her soul. She could not feel love nor hate, she did not felt pain nor passion. She became a doll for the devotion of all.

In blue, silver and white. Forever.

Rue Notre-Dame

What could be on the other side of that window? A room full of books, maybe? A big table with mismatched chairs, all of them with a story behind: one bought in Taiwan, another rescued from its imminent fate as litter, the red one was a present of an ex-boyfriend, still friends although everything changed. Maybe there’s a little space dedicated to take tea everyday at the same time, while looking out the window, while thinking about life and crazy ideas about love. In the corner, is it perhaps the favourite spot of a cat named Kite?

What indeed could be on the other side of the window of Rue Notre-Dame?

¿Qué puede haber al otro lado de esa ventana? ¿Una habitación repleta de libros, quizá? Una mesa con sillas desparejadas, todas ellas con una historia detrás: una comprada en Taiwan, otra rescatada de su inminente destino como basura, la roja fue un regalo de un ex-novio, aún son amigos a pesar de que todo cambió. Quizá hay un pequeño espacio dedicado a tomar el té cada día a la misma hora, mientras mira por la ventana, mientras piensa sobre la vida y locas ideas sobre el amor. En la esquina, ¿es quizá el rincón favorito de un gato llamado Kite?

¿Qué puede haber  al otro lado de la ventana de la Rue Notre-Dame?