Roman Vai

In the village, they dreaded the winter. Harsh, biting winds seeped into their joints. Only at the end of the night could they find respite from the cold, using their body’s heat to survive. And then there was summer: sun-gilded trees, grass that yielded to their feet, rich natural expanses with leaves that kissed and cooled their crowns.

And always during those summer months, a villager would ask, “when would winter come?”

But one villager preferred the clouds. He basked when the skies showed ash and breathed deep when the air felt like shards on his lungs. Asked by few, he would reply and say, “because the clouds remind me how good the sun feels.”



People have trouble staying present because the present asks you who you are now without your hopes, dreams, or expectations for the future. That’s what makes it so hard; you have to accept who you are now. It requires that you voice the question, am I doing what I would want for myself?

It also requires that one asks himself, am I a servant of the Amazon-delivery- vehicle that is our lives: going faster than the future?

To stay present, we must keep this in our minds, or else we’re doomed to arrive at our fated doorstep as a dented package we forgot we had bought.



A shit-stained shirt covered by a Supreme Hoodie,

“Her Dad’s dowry bought us a brand-new jacuzzi!”

Batkween’s offering signed seats for their second sold-out movie.

On these things,

I can just tap screens until the algorithm reviews me.

And that means,

I can kind of just jot down whatever it is that suits me.

Entry 9

I don’t really want to see the new Batman movie. Apple made me wait thirty days to recover my account and somehow a three-and-a-half-hour Batman sounds more tedious.