I’m sitting on my bed and eating salad from a big bowl and listening to Kings of Convenience. That’s all I’m doing. Staring at the stained white wall and enjoying the sound of music, I think about writing this: I couldn’t say why, but lately I write in English. Probably it’s the inability to build complex sentences what makes me feel like it is a more appropriate language for me at the moment. It is just like sitting on my bed after taking a shower and eating. It’s grey and windy and drizzling outside and I don’t even particularly enjoy sitting here, but it is all I have right now, and I do it and it’s just fine. I don’t need to enjoy things at their most and I don’t need complex sentences and redundant vocabulary to express that. It is just sheer life in the plain sense. No ornaments, no strong feelings. Just like Kings of Convenience, they don’t use anything but a couple of guitars, a couple of voices. And it’s still nice. And nice is more than enough, nice is wonderful. Just like a good, raw, sweet, tangy tomato: it doesn’t need anything else. And you might enjoy it intensely or you might as well simply eat it and focus on something else. Or just eat it without even noticing and not focusing on anything else. My mind is not drifting and is not blank. I am just sitting and eating and staring at the wall and feeling fine. And that is probably all I’ve been looking for lately, so why ask for more.