A bit of a cliche, I guess.

London. September 2015


I had a dream that I was in this faraway place somewhere in South America, although there was still an air of nearness about it, that dream-me instantly connected it to being in Gozo. I was initially with friends in this big walled room, and I started opening windows to let in the fresh air and the sunlight. I first opened a small area between the top part of the wall and the ceiling, where a mountain and a piece of sky were revealed. I then made a larger opening and pulled down the entire wall. I folded this wall away as if it were a Mediterranean-style wooden shutter. This now-absent large chunk of the room now gave way to an even greater view from the small one the former window had provided. The friends that were around providing a pleasant atmosphere now seemed to have left at some point. I shuddered at feeling an unfamiliar cold breeze where the stuffiness of the room had previously provided warmth, and despite being far away from the beach I felt the tiny distanced eyes of the bathers bore into my now naked self- a recurring feeling in my dreams of being unwillingly exposed to strangers for them to see all the imperfections I usually hide beneath my clothes. Such dreams seem to follow a metaphorical deconstruction of my Self which despite sounding grandiose as I type it illustrate nothing but extreme discomfort during its occurrence.

Despite sensing the familiarity of this discomfort, I kept moving on; for once, in charge and in control of my own deconstruction. The discomfort was increasing as I tore down more walls and let in more light until finally I was standing on the floor with all the walls of the room collapsed around the four corners like an opened water lily.

The discomfort remained throughout but it now felt nice. All that light ended up being very good to me.

Driving past pineapple plantations in Swaziland. August 2015