text: In this water I lay down and swim. There’s no direction, as there is no destination. Underneath the surface I learn that water isn’t always wet. That it can fall down on you like a warm summer breeze. Tiny drops on your skin. It comes in many shapes and many colours. In small or big waves. That it flows or comes in a solid form. And sometimes it’s tangible and sometimes you can’t even see it. Pure water is odorless, colourless and tasteless. And underneath the surface, they only have one name for me. I’m human. But on the other side, where water becomes air, they have all kinds of names for me. I’m always someone else. So sometimes I’m like water. I come in many shapes and many colours. In little pieces or a big wave. I could be anything for them. But water doesn’t leave the earth, that’s what makes us different. And I keep on swimming, as my parents learned me to. In their absence and in their presence. My arms and legs in motion. The rest of my body leaning against the pavement. I’m heading towards somewhere. A place that is vague and has yet no meaning. Nor a name. And water will not always be wet. And I will not always be human.