Lost in Norway

I didn't wear socks. Too stubborn and insisted it's summer in Norway. It rained, shiver ran into my spine.  My hands would get somewhat numb. Oftentimes, I get this "electrical" sensation. In the Philippines, my friends complained they felt the pang of electricity when I touched them in the malls. This time, I electrify myself. Electrify? Forgive the word, I'm using a Norwegian laptop. 90% of the words I'm writing gets underlined in red. Bloody.  You have to be ready for everything in Norway. Weather app tells it's gonna be sunny or cloudy today, but rain or hail can happen. This morning, I was sitting outside having coffee and smoking. I let the sun kissed my face. Hailstone fell from the sky. A summer winter? This is my longest photo caption so far.

Happy being lost

I am lost in Norway. Lost in translation. Lost—and I am loving it. New things are like antibiotics, they repress the lassitude bothering you from your former comfort zones. The more striking my desire grows to see the world.

"Be happy, the world is big," I used to tell my friends losing grip that la vita y bella

Have fun and take photos (of yourself)
Oslo Central Station. How staged is a staged photography? As if someone calls my name. I turn around. The trench coat sways in the air like Neo does in the Matrix. Neo did it for film. I'm doing for what? It doesn't matter darling. I want to laugh someday and look how fun life had been.

One sure thing to do when living in a new place: take pictures. It doesn't matter if a camera at hand is a 5 megapixel, triple AAA battery powered with a resolution of a VGA camera. There's Photoshop. Torture pictures with editing softwares. 

Amazing how places become beautiful when they're in pictures. The latter are more beautiful when you're in the photos. It's gonna be the best picture ever when your best angle get caught. Quicker than thunder, it becomes your profile pic in Facebook or Twitter. 

Like I told you, Photoshop.

I'm trying to achieve a pompadour hairstyle. Norways seems to be having a moist air most of the times, my hair loses its James Dean look. One day, I had my hair tied into a ponytail. A man approached me and bowed down. He thought I was a yakuza.