I want to write about how I found my picture album from high school. I though I lost it forever, threw it away that day I threw away my bag full of notes that I was collecting since I was 16. Nine years of things thrown away. Just because, I needed too.
I found the album and the photos I was pinning for where all there.

I want to write about this. I want to say how I never look at pictures in albums, but once I know that they are lost, I miss them.

I must, due to the circumstances, of my mother comming in and out of my room, to tell me I am a prophet, speaking the message of God. I am a prophet according to her because of the dreams I have had in my life, two of which she claims were accurate predictions. The first was in 1997, the night before my mother had her car accident on the way to the coastal town of Swakopmund from Windhoek where we live. I woke up crying and called her, but I said "this dream is too bad to tell you, I just can't". I cannot remember the dream, but in hindsight my mother sees it through the lenses of her car accident, the one she survived thanks to the Lord. She claims I must have dreamt of her accident, in spite of the fact I cannot remember this dream,.

The second dream is more pertinent to the day to day life I have at home. I apparently dream that someone broke into our house and this robber was a young women. I told this to my mother and apparently my father who present at the time is said to have said to denied any possibility that this female robber represented on of his "kurvas" or "whores" (in English) he goes to.

Day after day, hour after hour, my mother mentions something reated to my fathers adultery. This past weekend he did not sleep at home, so it has been particularly tense for her.
I am living here, with my mother and brother (who is out and about during the weekend evenings like my father, his role model, according to mom).
I am here, I am living and will live well.