10 April 2013

Forget Sometimes

"Hey man, what are you up to?" Quentin asks me in a text message. I tap in my four digits and prepare to answer him when another text pops up: "Wanna go skate? No filming, no photos, just a mellow session for free". I look up from my phone and notice the exceptionally blue sky. It's been chilly these days, but today looks good. I look at my computer screen and text back. "Fuck it, let's go!"

We meet at the famous Dongdaemun spot and shake hands like only Europeans do. The spot is empty, it's still early. Quentin and I share the mutual respect for a leisure skate session so much, that meeting up at noon is not even worth mentioning. For the first time in months I'm wearing a short-sleeved shirt. I put down my board and the sound of the four wheels touching the ground makes me smile. 

When something you love doing becomes your job, or part of your job, those original feelings of affection will likely make room to a sense of duty. I think it's still better than being stuck with a job you hate, but it can definitely ruin your ambitions. For two hours, I forgot about writing and translating, about paragraph composition and cultural-specific discrepancies. For two ours, I was a kid again. 

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