September

• Happy 4th birthday, Loba. We got her in late 2021, when she was a three-month-old puppy. This was only a few weeks after our previous dog passed away unexpectedly one afternoon, which left the family heartbroken. Although my father didn't want another animal in the house, my mother, sister, and I felt otherwise. I have always wanted a German Shepherd, when we found her all the males were already taken, but that didn't matter. Loba has grown into a healthy, beautiful, strong dog. At the same time, owning a German Shepherd has shown me the reality behind the idealized image I once had of the breed. Beyond their beauty and prestige, they require immense responsibility: dealing with constant shedding, cleaning up after them, managing their high energy, and putting in the patience needed for proper training. Dogs, like children, are a reflection of how they are raised, and their character is shaped deeply by their upbringing, for that I have learned to take fully responsibility of anything that is brought to the world. Even though my father was reluctant at first, I know Loba will likely be the last dog our family owns. For that at least, I am proud of everything we have given to raise her.

August

Winter is about to end in the southern hemisphere, nothing of worth has really happened in terms of weather, except for one day of rain or so. And every year we receive less.

• I haven't gotten proper rest at night, I am haunted by bad dreams that started about two years ago and haven't stopped since. At some point my dreams started to lose all of their colors and sense of wonder, and they slowly became duller, smaller and darker. It's like my imagination is waning. They feel like being trapped in a mock-up stage with a starless black void all around. The worst are the ones where I wake in the middle of the night (like 3:00 AM to 4:00 AM) feeling an intense sense of impeding doom and dissociation from my surroundings, with after-images of eyes and all sort of strange shapes. Although I have managed to reduce their intensity by studying my habits and thoughts. I feel they point at something that is troubling me deep inside. Maybe spiritual, buried in my unconscious, waiting for me to face it.
• Cycling used to be my favorite hobby, pick the bike and go on long trips around the city, reaching the outskirts to clear out my mind. But after living in the same place for more than two decades, I realized there's nothing new to explore or discover, the routes are all the same, and so are all the places and all the people, are all the exact same, everyday, all worn by repetition. I wish I could leave this town, move somewhere else completely new. I fell the call to adventure, but also of fear, the thought of abandoning everything I know to start again from nothing feels both thrilling and frightening. I fear anything that could get me out of my comfort, of the same home I've slept in all my life, of everything I already know and can control. Sometimes I wonder if what I'm really waiting for is a storm, a divine revelation from heaven, in the skies, in my dreams, in my life. Something sudden, violent, cleansing. Something that would shake me out of this drought and remind me that change is possible.
• Grandfather passed away on the 21st of August. Just a few months before, he had gifted me his gold ring. He gave it first to my dad, who then passed it on to me. I held it in my hand, tried to slip it onto my finger, but they were too skinny for it, so I turned it into a necklace instead. I had never owned real gold before, only steel jewelry painted golden. Real gold shines with a beautiful, magical quality that imitation can never match, it's difficult to explain. Grandfather told my dad that he knew I liked rings, though he had never actually seen me wearing one. In fact, during my last visits to his house, I wasn't wearing any jewelry at all. Just before that, I had a dream of him, from which I woke with a crushing weight of immense guilt, as if I carried the remorse of the entire Earth. I thought it was a sign that he needed me, but I couldn't gather the courage to visit him. Instead, I wrote him a letter, a letter he never read, because I burned it as soon as I finished it. I didn't think he would go so soon, and now I feel awful that I didn't see him, not even once this year. Even then, I couldn't overcome my anxiety, my fear of connecting, of having an honest interaction with someone. So I found myself unable to do something as simple as to say farewell. But I will carry this ring in his memory until the end of the world.

15.05.25

The days born and die before I can make anything out of them, but that's just a poetic excuse for my laziness. Lately, most of my time has been work, slow, agonizing, monotonous. Once I break free what's left of the day slips away so quickly I don't even realize it. It's only during that space that I can try to find meaning and pursue creative, personal projects. But still I wonder, if I had all the time in the world, would I really use it properly, or would I just find new excuses to not do anything at all?