On the eve of a new year

It 's a few hours before the clock lands on a new year.
As with every period, one tends to reflect and ponder.
The page that I am about to turn is in fact a good number of pages, journal pages, annotations, quotes that helped me get by, chronicles of my travels, drawings and papers I pasted on my notebook, and also, silence.
Returning to the place where I grew up has made this year quite unique. I lived overseas for five years.
For all my life until now I used to feel awkward for not having had a straight forward path like most people seem to have. But as I look back I feel devoid of any such concerns and instead,embrace life exactly as it has been, as it is. It's the twists and turns and times of absolute doubt that brought meaning; moments I would not have lived had I chosen a predictable path.
I wouldn't change the struggle and the joy, and by the time the clock reaches midnight and the beginning of two-thousand-sixteen I will not wish for anything other than for life to keep constructing and deconstructing me. 

Georgia O'Keeffe is one of my favourite painters of all times. 

The spirit of Flamenco

Carmen. Teatro De Gollado. Guadalajara, México 

Yesterday I found these photographs from one of my last performances: Carmen.
I scanned the pictures which seemed so remote and so precious. It was almost as if I didn't recognise myself in them. And as poor as their quality is, they remind me of a time when I devoted myself to flamenco.

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Interestingly, Carmen was Bizet's final opera. It was presented to the public in 1875 and he passed away three months later and unaware of the enduring success it would have. He thought it a failure.