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somewhere over the rainbow (and other stories)

  Exactly two years ago I found myself flying through a corner of a rainbow, and landed in Oaxaca, Mexico. It was the last film festival I traveled to, a brutal and sweet experience in the harshest of realities, trying to wrap my arms around the slipperiest industry and failing magnificently. Surrounded by fresh faces and eager eyes I ran from the rooms and into the street time and again, wandering off with the camera in my bag as a companion. I took pictures of a blind man that sang on the same corner every day, of wedding parades, of an old woman waiting to see the dentist.  Literally somewhere over the rainbow, I met the ugliest answers to questions I had been dragging my feet towards for years. Cramming the most delicious food into my mouth, joking at the nightly rooftop cocktail parties, grinning like the Cheshire Cat it was all coming to an end. Actually, it had ended before it even started though - and on the plane back to New York and finally Moscow the bone-crunching undertow

Sinatra's phantom


When you lose something, be it a lucky penny or a friend - time can be measured by how often you think of them, long after they are gone. Of course, lost earrings can be found behind seat cushions a year later. A familiar face can reappear. In these moments, the lost time evaporates. It never happened, as if they were always there. But when the loss is permanent, when the river cannot stop flowing towards the sea, when the toothpaste will not go back into the tube, time's fingers reach deep into the night finding nothing. No explanations, no metallic click, no snapshot of their disappearance, just a phantom limb.

It may be foolish to dwell on loss, but it is somehow unavoidable. Lost money, lost keepsakes, lost years, lost opportunities - they can play out in a never-ending loop in your mind. Regrets, I've had a few as Sinatra sang. I like that he has too few to mention.

I lost something last week, something utterly replaceable. Nothing special. I look forward to the day it does not weigh on me any more. And yes, maybe I will find it behind a seat cushion. Anything is possible.





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