15 July 2009


There is something about that time of night, that time when a peaceful calm hangs over a city, that time after everyone has finally drifted home from the bars and the clubs, that time before the early birds begin to stir and start another day.

That time when everything lies still.

Nothing can happen. Everything can happen.

And no matter how people always think it's crazy, I often find myself in these nocturnal wanderings. I always think that perhaps, when the world has come to a standstill, I finally may be able to grasp the mystery of life.

I never do.

Tomorrow will come another time, another stillness.

Perhaps then.


It started in Toronto: my habit of wandering around in the middle of the night, while the world sleeps.

Seeing this awoke a sense of nostalgia in me.

It's been three years, today, since that trip ended. I remember how shattered I was then, how I felt that everything good had ended and the world would come to an end. I thought then, with all my youthful dramatics, that I had lost Toronto forever, and I couldn't come back.

Yet, three years later, these streets look exactly how I left them.

Suddenly I realized, that I will never lose Toronto. Or Aix-en-Provence, or Turku, or any other place I have lived in for that matter. These places will always be there. I'm the one who has to move on. I have to grow up and become a different person.

I have to grow into the person I am supposed to be.


Three years ago, I asked myself why good things had to end, why I had to leave.

I understand now.