From the deep earth emerges a magical place,
Keflavik is what they call it.
Beautiful landscapes of a friendly people
Before the
North Pole.
Climb the coast
Verdant lands full of warm air
Feel the breeze of
Europe to the Southwest
Walk the land of ice to the north.

Sitting beside me was my grandfather. Always humming melodies that danced in the air. The happy birds completed the chorus. And the chorus of ladies joined in the murmur.

He stopped for a moment. The wind sang at the foot of the mountain. Jarinu had never been so quiet. The bell rang two more times. My grandfather expired.

The procession didn’t have time to pass. He had looked at his family, his body at the sea. Nothing was possible but to go and pray.

My home is many miles away from me. Outside, my eyes are observing a great river, black earth, and the prairies. Over time, I started to call all places home, but my heart is beating in another place.

One question is living in my mind: “How can I love a person that I don’t know?” I don’t know the things that make you happy, or how you like your coffee, or how you expect me.

Into the wild, I am hoping for you, because at this moment I am lost between the past and the future. My present life is awaiting your lips. I want to give flowers in life to you. Please, wait for me, because I am going to your arms.

As the boat glides slowly along the waters of the Yangtze, heading toward Shanghai, I listen — without meaning to — to a conversation unfolding beside me.

“Time is strange,” one of them says. “I remember the first time I traveled down this river. I was just a boy. My father came to sell fabrics made in our village. I went with him to learn how to trade.”

“In what way is time strange?” the other asks. “I see nothing unusual.”

“It’s strange because, back then, words carried their own weight. My father negotiated, and that was enough. Today, agreements require documents, signatures, proof that the deal truly exists.”

For a moment, something along the riverbank draws their attention. They fall silent and sip their tea. When the cup is nearly empty, the first man adds, almost to himself:

“Time is strange… because not even the rivers remain the same.”