As a fan of Marcel Proust who loves the way he perceives the world as depicted in À la recherche du temps perdu, I thought I should write down my answers to the most popular version of his iconic questionnaire in my first unequivocally personal blog post, even though my
Clinical, surreal emptiness. Chocolate-scented wood. Smell of new and non-alcoholic intoxication. Life as art for art’s sake. Neon light flickers as you blink infected by dizziness. No longer tone-deaf to the harmonies of your own soul, you don’t shrink for someone else to grow. An invisible corpse in the plastic
She was standing by the window, her face seemingly puzzled by the familiar noise of trains rushing incessantly and birds making harpy-like sounds. It was really taking her back. Back to the days when she made connections between the number of the floor she was living on and the corresponding
That memory of snowdrops, fountain pens, and spring dew made my world shiver this morning once again.
The universal shift of focus from being to seeming permeates our age of confusion.
My happiness is sometimes derived from: The scents of acacia flowers, honeysuckle and snowdrops; the taste of greengages. Moments when I feel I love what I am doing: when I get excited while reading research or creative writing – and, consequently, when I feel like I can contribute to