December 5, 1995. Today my mother is celebrating twenty-five years of remarriage. I wonder if there is a "dinner" tonight at Malakoff. My mother was beautiful in the pictures! Me too, from the top of my five years old! Eleven (!) years later, the first sexual intercourse, even eleven years later I left for Germany (maybe I'll have a break between my thirty-third and thirty-eighth birthday?). If my first five years left me with only few memories, the next quarter of a century is loaded. Go here and there, never settling down; finding with each new lover, a variant of the primitive history. Is it time to change? Not so sure. And if I would decide to lose control? Can we decide it by ourselves and in this case is the control really lost?
If I hoped to be forced by external elements to leave Kathmandu, they begin to come together against me. The days are becoming shorter and therefore more and more fresh, everyone is gone, the excursions available are exhausted and I do not want to see again "Pulp Fiction" to "Free Movie Show."
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