Some Days You Will Be Free

Free me, insidiously. You again. I love you. I love your sound. A reminder, some days I am free. Other days, I work for freedom.

When It Doesn’t Rhyme, It’s like ‘Woah’

I said this loud and how profound,

my voice again lost in the crowd,

birds again, no words again,

swallow and swallow aloud.

Let me crack and never bounce back

this is how I know to be.

I’ll break and break

as if I want to break free.

But do I? I ask.

I like wearing this mask.

No true sword can penetrate.

But behind it, a gate.

Awaiting sure fate.

I need to be obsessed with something.

I have been to a handful of countries. Mostly African, and the others, I was too young to remember. But I hold a normal moment precious where I experienced an impulse of delight, at a café in Hsinchu. I am grateful for this opportunity to speak to people who are different to what I’ve known. There are so many subtleties, we as humans convey and I enjoy the challenge of understanding them. When I speak about this moment, I can’t thank it in isolation because there have been so many. The true sounds and smells of being on an airplane, of waking up at 3am to see a plane asleep and the sun rising above the clouds, the sound of rolling wheels on an airports smooth floors, buses, trains, a mess of documents, photographs, days with wonderful people on crazy journeys.