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One says you arrive at the peak of your journey when you come home, as you observe the contrast between the environment you have been in, and the environment you spend your daily life in. To me, this comes with a delay, because I can linger in the fairy tale of the journey, thanks to the pictures which were taken there. Ten pages were created since we got back. My greatest journey is through my pages. Not as much the number, but the wrenching feeling which keeps me creating, in order to stop the restlesness inside of me. Injustice? I start to write. Pain, stress? They don't exist in the world of never ending patient paper. My journey of the summer? It has been fragile. Breakable. Paper-made. One day, it will go global, or that is my heartfelt hope, as a story wrapped in love by its writer. While the world is raging in september-mode, I will stand still for just a while longer. Will you guys read along with me?

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