On the weekend, I burned a pot on the stove.
The firemen came, the whole building was evacuated – I wasn’t here – it was mayhem, I heard.
At first I was quite balanced, no panic on the drive home when one of the tenants phoned and said there was a lot of smoke coming out of my apartment, a feeling of calm, an eerie numbness.
The next days, sitting in the smell of smoke with a busted door, the doubt started to creep in, and the question: “Why did this happen?”
In the last 10 years I’ve come to see there are no accidents around me.
It took a few days before I realized this was a metaphor for lifetimes connected to disarray.