fog it enveloped the bridge completely. On my bicycle, slowly pedaling, I knew I was approaching the bridge, because I had done hundreds of times before, in sunlight, clear nights, snow. Now nothing guiding me but the yellow line, which separates the street from the bicycle path. And the noises, rare in that late hour anyway, swallowed, muffled, muted. Only the sound of the chain, a rythmic, anorganic whispering. I could make out a chain of lights, orange, slowly fading in the distance, but the usual glow of the parliament failed to warm the darkness.
As I approached home, the proximity of buildings with warm windows evicted the gray mass, and cars were too close and real for any separation to be left to me. Brutality of colours and contours again, so real, and my bicycle's noise was not the only one anymore. After carefully locking the bicycle to the railing in front of our house, after unlocking the door, I was back in the warm, comfortable place I know. Back to where I can judge properly, where noise is what I know it to be, colours do not deceive me, and contours reveal themselves.

I will join the Member Committee of AIESEC in Colombia. Six months from now, I will have settled down in Bogotá.

Vuelvo!!!!  ¶ 4:32 PM