My life is a Wong Kar-wai movie.

No, I guess I wish it was. In fact it’s more like a Murakami-novel, brought to the silver screen by Wong Kar-wai. Does that make sense?

Well, even if it doesn’t I guess it fits my life even better.

I feel like life consists of 1000s of layers. Language class in university is one. Meeting friends iws anotherm culture class yet another. Organizing your private life, hobbies like computer games, dozens of ideas I have about what my life should be like, what I should be like all are different, individual layers.

I guess with most people that’s fine, because their layers are congruent with each other and each layer leaves enough blank space for others to match.

Somehow mine are not. Each of them is a plane in 3-dimensional space, gently shifted, none of them is congruent with the other. And yet, none of those countless layers is myself. In stead tehy are all closely gathered around me, around my self, without a loophole for me to sneak out, imprisoning my self.