31 jul. 2018

1 week in Seoul.

Llevo una semana en Seúl, que pasó extremadamente rápido. Seúl es una ciudad extraña, Asia es un lugar extraño. Asia es linda. Seúl es grande. Itaewon, Hongdae, cada lugar es un sueño. Es una cultura diferente, una aventura, un día volveré, más sabía, con el corazón tal vez más tranquilo. I don't want to forget.

7 jul. 2018

Hong Kong’s danmei. A short story.

 “he hold me in his arms and I cried... was this the last time? That summer morning when we met, in ten years we would have forgotten, but what we have felt, it was like pale pink color. It was an endless dream. The narrow corners, the worn out bed sheets, the convenience stores underground the city, the old yellow light of the hotels and the motels ... they all wailed, everything was impregnated with our love. Every corner of Hong Kong screamed “I was here, I existed and someone I loved, loved me back”. There was no exit for this alley, i was going back to Paris, I was going back to the grey sidewalks and the melancholic jazz at cafés and girls with black dresses and red lipstick smoking cigarettes pretending to be sad or actually being sad, because Paris was like that, a boring city, a city that would crush you until you escaped or until it killed you.
I was there for one last time, in the corner of Salisbury Road and Kowloon Park with my chest wide open and a bitter taste of farewell in my mouth. I could get the smell of his soap and the warm sensation of his breathing, his skin so soft and one last look into those almond shaped eyes.
I felt Xie Yan holding tight before just letting go. Maybe he was yearning too. I missed him as soon as he let loose.
He placed his finger over my wet cheeks and with a gentle touch swipe away my tear. He was holding back, I could tell.
— don’t cry... — whatever he was going to say he was not able to finish finish. His cab arrived. So soon. It would have always been too soon.
“There’s no chance I’ll see you again” he was the realist and I the dreamer. I hold tight onto those dreams... my legs started to move, as I saw that car moving away, I started to desperately chase it... he was still there, I could still follow him, desperately, unhesitatingly, hopelessly. He turn back and saw me, he waved his hand back and me and I collapse onto the ground, crying with my hands over my neck, trying not to fall apart, pretending it didn’t hurt as bad, trying to make sense of the rest of my life.

I took a cab to the airport. Lu Han’s Tian Min Min was playing on the radio and a wave of sadness, for I don’t know how else to call what I was feeling then, quivered through my body. The air con felt too cold, the speed seemed too fast. The taxi moved away from the city and Hong Kong was slowly fading into my memory, already small and already distant. I still had the smell of his soap impregnated in my clothes and almost obsessively, I tried to recall a year of my life in a forty five minute ride.
We were apart, we were already apart.
It had been too pretty. The summer was over, tomorrow I was going to be in my four wall room in Lille, colder and grey.
I couldn’t stop moving in the back seat, just thinking and thinking and thinking.
Xie Yang, how are you going to wake up tomorrow. How am I gonna go back to the world, knowing you won’t be there?
— Did you forget something? — the driver asked.
There were never flowers in you. And yet you were my most beloved spring, a summer that burnt my soul and the wind of autumn that took away my ashes. I was going to forget, eventually. August turned into September and soon it was snowing outside my window at La Sorbonne and you have always wanted to come...It was distant how it felt, the sweat running down our faces in the stifling weather of May in Hong Kong, with a fan hardly working,with the sun trespassing the yellow curtains of our room in Wan Chain.
But I looked outside my window and you weren’t there, and your smile wasn’t there and your image was pale. There were never flowers in you, and yet that winter I couldn’t stop thinking how much you liked lavenders.


Ok, if you ask me this is extremely shabby. I almost hate it. But I wrote it a 2 am or something, after reading koi monogatari I think, or was it killing stalking? idk but I don't love these passages. I still think they are somehow good if you read them as that, as passages, but I don't see them as part of a novel. It's obviously an ending, and its a beautiful love. But it's too obvious. That's why I don't like it. But it's not completely terrible, however, it is not good at all. Xie Yang is supposed to be from Mainland, but from the southern part, so his mother tongue would be Cantonese, not mandarin. But then again, why not making him a boy with big dreams? he would either go to Beijing or Shanghai, but I wanted to make him from a smaller province... and it made sense if he was from the Cantonese speaking part since he was studying in Hong Kong along with our main character. He must be insufferable, studying art or something, and French. The main character, I mean. Xie Yang must be super beautiful, but feminine, so sadly I don't think Yang Yang would be able to cast off this part, at least not in my mind. As for Luhan, he is from Beijing, and lately I don't love him... since he has been declared the richest Chinese celebrity...  he is different from his exo days :c well, but this is not and entry to cry about LuHan, anyways, LuHan is more like Xie Yang, still Cheney Chen could be another option. As for 'our protagonist' (haha, that's how they called a guy I used to date in China) I'm thinking in Thomas Brodie-Sangster, how is not French ik, or even Freddie Highmore with blonde hair. That's 'cause they remind me of a boy I saw in Bath once. He looked so pure and innocent, and shy and idk... he had an aura around him. Anyways, as for the thing I wrote, I would take off the last part if you asked me, but then I read the last lines. Just for those lines I left it there. Well, I'm feeling quite sick today, and I know nobody really cares about what I write (even less if it's in English) but, uhh, this is quite readable, for being something written on an iPhone at 2 am.