Curiosity is what flows through my veins. Where the blood flows keeping me alive, so does curiosity. Keeping me living. Being curious is like losing your mother in the supermarket. You have to find her just like, really everything else. But is it possible to be so absolutely curious that you are ashamed of yourself? Writing down every observation you come across. Always having a journal at hand. Never letting life pass without recording it first. Is it possible to be ashamed of something like that? Making something out of every moment. You’d think that would be more acceptable. Living. Not just surviving.