“Perhaps” is a great word

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There’s a reason this blog has not been active lately: I was confused. I needed to put my own thoughts in order before I could write. If you don’t know what you’re trying to say, writing is pointless.

I’m quite certain that I’m not the only one here who thinks a change is often good to make up your mind. Here I am, then, writing from a new perspective, from my new location, my home away from home, hopefully.

I do believe this place will become home, too. Canada has a way of slipping into your heart silently while you aren’t looking. It just happens to grow into you regardless of all the obvious inconvenience (tipping and taxes and expensive public transport). One day you simply realize you feel attached to the town, although perhaps you wouldn’t be able to put your finger on what its particular charms are.

I’ve found an amazing spot that brings back the old feeling of “If only I had a pencil”. I don’t suppose inspiration can come from a mere place, but this one is well worthy of a writing mood.

Picture a cozy victorian building on the edge of a park. In the second floor there is a library, a small reading room whose books are too worn out to catch anybody’s attention from their dusty shelves. The leather chairs and couches have a vintage spirit that makes you want to hold your breath out of respect. They welcome young scholars who sneak in here to nod off between their lessons.

Light pours in from the windows, through a climbing plant. Since everyone is asleep, I get to sit on the couch right beside the window, leaning against the glass. Peaceful as can be. It makes me want to write.

I don’t know that I will start to write often again, though. At this moment, there is really only one matter I would want to write about, and yet my attempts have been pathetic so far. Whatever words I use, they fail miserably. I simply can’t put it into words and anything else I could write about just seems trivial right now.

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