I see in you what I love

I haven't written in ages.

Everything fell apart. I started hating London, I started questioning what I was doing with it - Autumn was fast: art galleries, projects, magazines, big dreams and small budgets. Falling in love.

Love stayed while everything else disappeared, leaving the bones of my life bare and ready to grow into something new.

Airports became mundane pains, the journey from London to Helsinki as exciting as a bus trip. I left bitter feedback on airport feedback sheets: your system reminds me of a post-Soviet country; when I was too tired I booked airport capsule hotels to breathe and stand under cheap luxury showers. On the day I came back from Lisbon I saw a man who looked like a Hindu god walk past my home street.

I didn't meet as many people as I would've liked to. In Portugal I heard stories of the colonial wars, the ants are the only animals to fear in Africa - they'll kill the strongest man you know, touched the smooth skull of an elephant, played with a puppy in an artist's studio and shared a vegetarian meal with Sikhs at a yoga retreat in the middle of nowhere.

I have probably never been as unhappy as I was during this year - fighting against the ideals of a world where your holidays in the Caribbean or whether the watch on your wrist is Patek Philippe or Longines matters more than what comes out of your mouth. But I fell in love with someone who, by accident gave me one of those watches - after telling me to go engrave something silly on it. Someone who has a dagger tattooed on his ankle, ink on his fingers and more pictures on his arms and legs than I could ever count. Someone who gets fancy for exhibition openings, but wants to wear bucket hats and Hugh Hefner -style robes with me during sunny mornings.

And it's getting better.