Every morning I break free from you, only to find myself at night, tangled in your indecipherable thoughts and your treacherous embrace … “Stop fighting it,” you whisper. “What good is it anyway? After all, this love of ours has ‘Eternity’ tattooed deep in its flesh.” I have run out of places to hide. And still, each morning I run away from you, knowing you will find me again as soon as the stars wake up at night…

I drove through Camden Town last night. I looked for us at that side wooden table on the terrace at Lock 17. Do you remember? We were those kids seized by our illicit love affair…aroused by the novelty of our feelings, by the suddenness of our actions. I stopped to look and listen. Were those our interlocking fingers weaving through whispers and lusty looks over the cocktail glass brims? We were consumed by that devouring complicity…duplicity…audacity. The world knew us as just good friends. Our secret was smirking in its

His Eyes

His eyes see me. Look through me, they search me and find me. They feel me and caress me. I taste their saltiness on the tip of my eyelashes. His eyes call me and sing to me ancients rhythms of love and fire. They pierce my soul and drink my essence. There is no hiding from them. And what would be the point? I want them to see me, and hold me and love me. They recognize me from a thousand others. For centuries, we have been dancing together among

Chocolate, balloon hearts and flowers…these are all the norm on Valentine’s Day. And they are all thoughtful gifts, but a bit on the lazy side, if you ask me. For those of you who want to move away from the cliché side of things, here’s a more personal, unique and meaningful way to declare your love to your better half:

  I am hanging out at my friends’ eatery, lounging carelessly on the back decked private porch, rejoicing in the privilege of being between hawk and buzzard. It’s almost midnight and the thermometer doesn’t budge from 32 degrees Celsius. The city buzzes like in plain daylight, with many finding refuge in places such as this. We’re all running away from torrid homes and burning mattresses. Sitting next to me at the wooden table are the four owners of the restaurant – two sisters and their husbands, my longtime friend who’s

He & I

riot 2008

He is a Capricorn. I am a Taurus. His sign verb is “to organize”. Mine is “to have”. Love, stubbornness, a passion for travelling and reading are some of the things that tie us. And then there are the differences. He is chilled about life and takes everything with a grain of salt and with a smile. I am, many times, neurotic and panicky about losing control of things. Worrying about little things, big things, worrying about things that haven’t even happened yet.

The Whitehall Court stands proud against the lead-like sky. From a distance it seems straight out of a Disney fairytale, a suggestive handcrafted canvas rather than a real frame of the live film unfolding before my eyes from across the river, on Southbank. With its spires and turrets, it is an architectural jewel thrown amidst the modernist buildings strewn along the Thames. Massive and yet delicate, its black rooftop sheltered once the British Secret Intelligence Service MI6. I walked along the Southbank shore maybe a hundred times, but only now


Last week was great! Great weather, great company, great time at the Paralympics. With only a few days until the end, my friend Lorna invited us – me and Aidan – to go together to see the athletics competition. It was an amazing experience. The stadium, the crowd, the staff guiding us in singing voices towards the main entrance. Lorna said they reminded her of Disneyland. They had been greeted there with the same hospitality and jovial guidance. I have to hand it to the Brits, they did an amazing

A few months ago I enrolled in a wonderful writing journey – Kristin’s “monthly series of online writing adventure workshops for place-passionate, culturally curious writers around the world. Each writing adventure focuses on one particular aspect of craft or the writing life”. During this 38-hour adventure, we connect with Kristin and #38Write writers around the world via a Twitter hashtag and a group Pinterest board. In the August workshop topic was Peregrination and connected 16 writers in 8 countries. So, for 38 hours we peregrinated – travelled on foot – and wrote about

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