I'm gathering all the light and healing atoms around me for Tim Cribb's recovery. He is currently in a seriously critical condition and need all the good and positive vibes possible.

A few last photos with - of, my parents before I leave Paris (again) - before I come back (again).
Taipei, then Saigon... then where else...?

As we were about to leave my parents' home, after a final joyful dinner together with them, my brother, his wife and my dear nephew Vũ An before my departure...

My nephew: I will miss you very much, Bác An (Uncle An).

Me: I will miss you too, Vũ An 

My nephew: (showing me his stuffed rabbit Lapin) And Lapin will miss you too. 

Me: I will miss Lapin a lot as well! (heart melting)

2:00 a.m.: Battle of noise: on this side of the street, some classical music lovers play Rossini's William Tell overture at full volume, on the other side, others play Prince, also at full volume... Who's going to win? 

Nos après-midis du vendredi

Another one of those Friday musical afternoon with Julia and Isabelle. I play the piano, they sing, in duo, and also in trio - sometime... Bach, Fauré, Mozart, Granados, Vivaldi, Brahms, Handel, Mendelssohn, Grieg, Turina, Strauss...

And we've been doing that for so many years - ever since I met Julia, actually. And I will always make time each time I'm in Paris to see Julia on Fridays.

Having Isabelle is a luxury. Her luminous soprano voice is pure enchantment.

Book

 As I was about to get off the metro, I saw a man opening the first pages of a book, a worn copy of Bulgakov's Master and Margherita. One of my all time favourite novels.

"You'll have a great tune reading this book" I said.

The man looked up from where he was sitting, probably surprised that a total stranger would address him.

"I said, you will enjoy youself with this book. It's a really great novel!"

The mean stood up. Tall, in his late forties, tired looking or worn out by life, with longm greyish hair and a baseball cap on his head. He got off the train with me.

"I just found this book" he said, with an accent I couldn't immediately place.

"That's my favourite novel" I went on.

He smiled again, his eyes glimmering with pride. "It's a Russian novel... I'm Russian." He showed me the other book he had in his beg: Emmanuel Carrère's Limonov. Our short exchange ended. We had to take different directions. He stopped, glanced warmly at me and extended his hand. A friendly and firm grip.

"Yes, Master and Margherita is my favourite novel" I thought to myself, as I was walking in the long metro corridors.  

I made that very nice dream last night where I was playing the piano with Gus Van Sant. We were improvising (something wildly chromatic I wouldn't be able to replicate once awake) and he was humming a strange melody for his new film.

I like those dreams...