I have trouble dealing with transience. It's depressed me as a child, as a student, as an adolescent, and writing, and photography, and collecting objects, never being able to let things go, as if a small personal rebellion against what I know in life to be true -- transience. All to fight transience. What is "mine," I wondered, each time something I believed to be mine escaped me and moved on and almost willfully. Making me the fool.
On a separate note, this cat helps me feel less alone.
Guichanaso.
