thesis

First thing I notice: yawning. My body needs a break. Sometimes we yawn not because we’re tired, but because the brain is slightly depleted of oxygen. And the yawn forces it back into the system. It’s also a signal for the body to relax. To live in the here and now. But although my body felt relaxed, in slow motion, my mind was still racing. I am

My body doesn’t know that 330 billion of my cells are replaced every day — that's about 1 % of myself. My body doesn’t know that in the span of 7 years, it rids itself to the very last cell and is completely reborn. I did touch everything before, but that everything is no longer touching me. That me evaporated. Or maybe got absorbed. I have

A physical space keeps existing when empty, with nobody watching it, but it’s not truly mine as long as I’m not there. It belongs to the latest version of me that inhabited it. And I used to feel this as a terrible loss. I’m becoming a guest in my own former home, while still tightly clenching the keys to my chest.

Wherever I go, I crave the