San Francisco always feels like home to me. The first time I came to the U.S., we often took the late-night buses. I didn’t like sleeping—sleeping wasn’t just an action, it was a statement. It told everyone that I didn’t care about this place, but I cared about myself—that was what mattered most. I wanted to spend all my time on myself.
I’m always afraid to close my eyes in the dark. I love gas stations lit at night, offices and gyms that haven’t turned off their lights, billboards that say “it is a big step for everyone of us.”
This feels more like an adventure than a cathedral; life itself is an adventure. I love so many things—the shuttle back to the hotel at night, the airports, the early-morning dance studios, the carpeted recording rooms, the stage lights. They are all telling me: step forward, don’t be afraid—you will always be supported. Drifting and adventuring are warm. In San Francisco, I don’t have to break myself to return to life. This isn’t romanticism; some people need to shape themselves through wandering.
Travel is a tangible form of drifting. When the distant place you once imagined becomes every frame on the road, you will not be afraid of going anywhere.