“I was impulsively all over the place. A wild kid always getting into trouble, always involved, who couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause of her troubles. I felt inexplicably borderline depressive. Perhaps I just needed a break from home, working without significant time-off for almost a decade, but I immediately felt a renewed sense of self during my decennium adventure. My grandfather’s demise just came as the perfect respite at a crucial time in my life. My soul, my spirit – it all felt disconnected and dead, like the last day of summer when the flower shreds it’s last petal or the initial jolt of electricity power shutdown after a load-shedding. I had been more cynical than usual and generally hating on the world, and every person I encountered. He died doing what he loved. Eventually everyone dies, still comes as a shock. It was, for lack of a better word, an awakening. This city had always felt familiar, and I wanted to be here, unlike those glorified stories. This gets old fast. Everywhere is concrete. It sucks you in with that strong, initial high and then eventually leaves you empty despite the rush of thousands of people and endless prospects, and trapped with nothing to show for yourself except a heavy vs. hollow wallet and a hardened attitude. NYC had been lacking lately. My people are waiting. Excuse my metaphor, creeping into small spaces of bricks feels like an ant in a bunch of other colonies. Stuck? Yes. Country of freedom, at least not yet. However it has nurtured me to fix the life drills, at the end of the day you just want to walk yourself in your apartment, take that bra off, sit on the couch, be the most of yourself and rip a big ol’ fart privately. I have a couch to crash on for extended stays with ”This Must Be The Place” frame hanging on the other wall. And if you need me I’ll be with dogs.” (Pratha Yonzon, New York)