My cozy little wardrobe

 I remember reading one of Milan Kundera's works, where a scholar, after years of being persecuted by totalitarian authorities, finally got a chance to get back to his work and read his essay at the conference on the west. Unfortunately, he got so focused on explaining his difficult path and undying gratitude for being able to be back at what he loves to do, that he actually forgot to read it. Later on, he decided to make up for this embarrassment and in the evening went to a hotel pool in order to show off his athletic body but sadly, this did not turn out very well either as he stumbled upon a couple that was, unsuccessfully, trying to have sex. So for this reason, thinking of the misfortune of the poor professor I won't spend much time explaining what has happened to Monkey Seduction, and how happy I am to be back and running (or writing, for that matter). I won't be elaborating on that. Just in case. 

 Recently I have been thinking about an old friend of mine (Hi, Damian), who had a thing for the idea of disappearing. He liked believing that wandering far away, would one day make him invisible. The desire was strong and it manifested itself from time to time in endless trials. During these times he was usually holed up somewhere, probably contemplating the condition of the world, and then, when he finally had to pop into a local off license to buy cigarettes, he was not invisible at all. But at least he tried. I used to believe that I got it from him: the fantasy of marching out all alone towards the sunset not looking back. It had led to few complications in my life, including one of my best friends telling me that I always simply walk away from problems. 

 So for various reasons, I have developed my own fantasy, which has a lot to do with my wardrobe. Everyone who ever admired 'Chronicles of Narnia' as much as I do, will understand that wardrobes indeed are magical objects. As a child I used to get inside my mom's wardrobe, trying to feel the wooden panels around me, but the experience never quite played out as I had hoped. The wardrobe smelled of old clothes and was dark and suffocating. Nevertheless, the dream of the perfect wardrobe never abandoned me. Locked up in a magical wardrobe is better than disappearing. In '1Q84' Harui Murakami has played on this fantasy until it almost became real. The main character spend most of their time in hiding, in a flat settled only for this purpose, surrouded by books and their own small routine. Invisible. In calm, quiet solutidue. I was re-reading these passages endlessly. It was the fantasy-come-alive for people- like me and Damian, who like being unseen, holed up in a tme loop. 

 Nowadays, my magical wardrobe lives in my head. I close my eyes and I imagine I am entering the hiding place, resting place, where no one can see me. Therefore, please forgive me if I haven't been returning your calls. The network coverage in here is really shit.