Nothing ungovernable, it’s more like a hum. The hum of I’m not feeling at my best, of can’t get that argument out of my head, of what if, what if, what if; a hum that I eventually forget is there at all, even though it never ceases to soundtrack my every move. (Continue)

Nienke, Mehdi, an anonymous friend, and I attend the annual Pride March. It’s the city’s first two-week Pride festival in Amsterdam, each week organized by a different organization. (Continue)