Suitcases.

"My dance is neither a philosophy nor a job; it is the way I am feeling emotionally. This is why I move."
- Olga Kuraeva.

It's awfully quiet nowadays. It gets dark sooner than usual.  When the sunshine breaks through the curtains, I'm still tired from the sleeplessness.

The flickering lights look beautiful at night from up so high. I should tell, my new current temp address is the 14th floor of a building. Facing the bay. With the Anzac bridge placed delicately over it. The crystal blue waters match the clear blue skies perfectly. Even the white floating yachts imitate the luscious clouds. It's scintillating, the view from here. The township on this side of the bay isn't too de rigueur. The paper mache browns of the buildings are well compensated by the greens and yellows of the winter season.

It's close to a scene out of a fairytale. 

In the current temp, it's still a little messy- the room, the luggage, the hair. The suitcases are all open. Yet to be unpacked. Don't know it's worth yet. The current temp validation is only until another day. And then the next one, for a week perhaps. Maybe a few juggles around, until.. until some time.

Learning the ways of nomadic fate. (living out of suitcases)

The stage never gives you second chance, so I prefer photos and videos. The camera is able to capture real and deep emotions. 

"It doesn't matter if I dance well or not- the most important thing is that it is real."