London, 30 December 2022

I walk every day. Before the sun sets, usually around 2 PM, I have to leave the flat and embark on a stroll that leads me to an unknown place. I take a few puffs before heading out to enhance my experience, and plug my earphones in for the right soundtrack. Then I walk. There is no particular destination, except perhaps to buy something or go for a coffee. I follow my instincts, making twists and turns along the way, guided by my gut feeling. I enjoy discovering new little streets, rows of houses, or interesting courtyards. I find beauty in these places, even if they repel with ugliness. I drift through the East of London without a specific goal, yet with determination and restlessness. Sometimes I walk for up to two hours, wanting to go further and further away instead of returning to our flat. I see people and gardens, birds and ponds, and many places I’d rather live in.

When I get home, it is usually already dark. I work on myself, trying to read, do mind quizzes, and send texts to old friends I fear might slip away otherwise. I clean up and clean out—closets, drawers, and thoughts. Oftentimes, I dread the day. Not because it is particularly hard or exhausting, but quite the opposite. I feel I am nobody here, just a stranger strolling through the streets, unnoticed and leaving no trace.

I usually feel it deep inside, the urge to start walking, to take a new turn, to head towards the unknown rather than return. I wonder if I should follow my instinct.