I remember but I don't celebrate. A lot has happened since I returned home but at the same time nothing changes. Every morning I take the bus to go to work. If I get the chance I take a seat next to the window and as I look through, the city seems static. I keep my eyes wide open and I never sleep, because I always inevitable daydream. I meticulously elaborate perfect fantasies where I'm happily heading somewhere else where I'd rather be. As I get off from the bus and head towards the office, I promise myself that tonight, the very least I'll do is draw it, and then I'd make it happen.