Rastafari

Back home, there is few things that really annoy me. People pushing me in a crowded place and not apologizing. Being late and people who are late. Even if I must admit being late at all my meetings. It’s in my genes, I can’t fight it, it’s my Latin blood! I hate cold espresso, bicycling under the rain and also tomato sauce stain on a white blouse. Let’s not talk about guys in the street asking if I want to grab a drink with them. No. I don’t want to know you. I’m busy and you are scary. Leave. Me. Alone. Please.
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In 47 days…

I’ll be gone.
Hop! In a plane direction Dubai.

I’ve been preparing for this trip for few months and I have to admit, I think about it all the time. While brushing my teeth I dream about the bad beds I will sleep in. On my way to work, I’m cycling between two buses but my spirit is transported in Angkor Wat and I imagine myself discovering the temples on a rusty bike. My friends, while we were sitting on the grass to catch the pale English sun on a quiet Sunday afternoon, I was already feeling the Thai sand between my toes, the taste of a fresh coconut on my tongue, gently lulled by the song of the waves…

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