It has already been a year.
Have i just been making a fool of myself being incredibly idealist and naive to have made such a move - to leave my country, my friends, my family - so to run away from a sorrow that was once worthed more than my life for almost two years.
I was striding a canal from Angel to East London with dear Thomas while feeding him the story about my long gone past. Several hours ago I have just showed him pictures of a place once home and so awed me I was blown away completely and fell in love with the place as well as with a guy. What does all that mean after all this while? A romantic crazy love story to amaze my friends, children and grandchildren with, 'once mama/grandma was a real romantic fool'.
How about all these London shit? Has anything brought me forward to my dream or closer to the path filled with turnip and rosey scent and a house in Hampstead or Westend? I constantly feel closer and closer to my personal breakdown and survived, once again.
Tomorrow i will wake up for next challenge, to deal with yet another brainless Brit.
I mean what da hell have they been feeding all those British kids with that destroy all those brain cell, which are already scarce inborn, they have got?
Damn, tomorrow, i will wake up and make it a better day.




Well, at least i will make some sushi to embrace this lovely sunny summer day.