I have very mixed feelings when I stare now at the blank page. I want to tell so much and yet I want to keep certain things to myself. A strange feeling that you want to share, but reluctant as if sharing could have a consequence. But I think I won’t be able to write anything sincerely before do – that’s what in my mind for many days now, and I can’t get rid of it.

To make it short, two out of three last weeks I spent in the hospital. It just happened, rather suddenly, as one friend of mine said, just a bit of bad luck. No worries, it seems I got lucky again and I may get away with it just fine. What worries me is that it was sort of a distress signal. Perhaps I am just young, nothing like that happened with me before and it’s just something new, unknown and therefore worrying, but.. Maybe it was? Signal that something has to be changed. But I don’t feel changed at all. As if all stays one hundred percent the same. If the universe wanted to give me a lesson, did I fail to learn something?