Voyeurism
Voyeurism
I rush to those who love watching others suffer - like fans of World Press Photo, for example, or photos of very poor people from the streets of Mumbai or Johannesburg. For about three nights now, I've been crying before bed because I don’t feel alive. There’s no life in my life - what a paradox. I start wondering, where was life? I remember Barcelona and now begin to sob. I remember how sad I was there sometimes, but it seems like it wasn’t as sad as it is here. Can I somehow freeze this state of sadness and later compare it to another state of sadness to objectively measure where it’s less miserable?
I terribly miss myself there, my friends, the emotions, the streets, the pickpockets, and the dirty metro. Time passes, and I’m not getting any younger - the later I move, the less time I’ll have left to enjoy it.
I had the feeling that I was doing what I wanted to, but alas, no, that’s not the case. What I truly want is to leave this city, learn Spanish, and work in different places. I want to work in a photo lab, assist on film sets, work in a clay workshop-studio, and help annotate data to speed up progress in the war crime cases.
There’s this really cool illustrator from Barcelona, and I watched an interview with her - a tour of her apartment, which she was renting alone for the first time. I envied her so much . I desperately want to live in a place with many people I can connect with, from completely different backgrounds. Where I live now, the pool of such people is very small, and even though I have good acquaintances here, I really miss the scale and diversity of people from different countries.