Address

"I want to confess." "What." The connection was gone. We did not talk for days. "What was it?" "I lost your address. You sent me two postcards already. You won." "This is not a competition." "I have to go. I have a date. Well, not really. To the museum. The best sculptor in Europe." "I hear you. I have to sleep too. Hey, whose the date?" "Ehm. She's from Holland. A jew. Well, a secular jew." "A jew by blood only. Not religion." "Whatever." "Your postcard is coming. Probably it's an opportunity for business in Cincinnati. It's extremely hard to find a good authentic Cincinnati postcard that doesn't have a postcard-like pictures. You know what I mean? So, yesterday, I bought you an opium salad postcard from Sitwell's. The only place I can find a decent postcard. Send me more postcards from Paris. And have a good date."

I haven't talk to him for a week, now. We always missed each other. I wonder why with our time distance it's very hard to catch up with each other. "Did you find anything about the slum prototype?" "Can't find any. We have a different angle to look at this subject. I could care less about the design. I don't care. Why would you put these people on the tip of the river where they cannot find any decent and safe place to live?" "It's just a simulation." "You can't simulate people's lives. These people are real. and the situation are real. If I were you I would take the subject more on the policy level. How can tourism in Siem Reap pay back to the residents." Here we go again. The "non-stop-bitching-me" who cannot stop complaining about things. I can't stand to see innequalities, but I know, "bitching" alone will not work. "We're on the same page. But social solution without design solution is non-sense. Remember what happened in Code? In the end after Romomangun died people built their houses permanently?" I hate that in the end he always wins. But I know I was right. People are more important than design. I know he probably thinks the same way, but "design" is his life now. What can I say.

I felt that night, on that stage, under that skull, incredibly close to everything in the universe, but also extremely alone. I wondered, for the first time in my life, if life was worth all the work it took to live, What exactly made worth of it? What's so horrible about being dead forever, and not feeling anything, and not even dreaming? What's so great about feeling and dreaming? (ExtremelyLoudAndIncrediblyClose, JonathanSafranFoer.)

"I feel empty." "Why? I thought you're happy in Paris." "No. I am empty and lonely. But I don't know why." "I hear you. I was there before until I found God." He was silent all the time I talked about the moment God woke me up at night when I was sick three years ago (I can't believe it was that long ago) and made me realized that He just wanted me to find him. It was a long journey, very painful, but it was part of me being a clay to surrender to the potter who knows what best of me. "I don't want to read that book and am not trying to." "Does that sound crazy? I'll stop." "No, it didn't. You did. The way you told me that you'd be happy if you're die right now. That's crazy." "A friend of mine told me that if the whole thing about Jesus is not true, at least we'd made the world a better place by helping others. Of course I didn't agree. And it is silly to believe in God halfway cause it meant nothing at all if you do that." "I agree with your friend. Well, we have our own way. I wonder if in the end we'll end up in the same road again." The word that came into my brain was -never- not if you don't believe in Jesus. I prayed for you, cause you wouldn't told me those things if something didn't bother you. God is working in you. And I pray that he'll keep doing that in you.