June

It is June.

Last week, in the blur and rush of things, I grabbed an old leather-bound notebook from one of our drawers. I opened it and looked at the paper - it was crisp and blank, the kind I loved to write and draw on, and thought it'd be great to keep it in my bag to preserve my sanity.

The days sped by; Fashion week came, along with the different stresses involved in preparing and staging a show. Today is the first day I come back to a normal day at work.

I have been feeling out of sorts. I know why, and my family and some of my closest friends know why. When I sat on my desk this morning, I thought I'd take out the black sketchbook from my bag to doodle a quick doodle before I plunge head-first into work. I flipped the front cover open, and I was surprised. It was not blank after all.

Paris - March 29, '94

It was a long flight. You need the aid of sleeping pills to get by and get through the 13 hour flight from Bankok to Paris...

An Air France sticker was fixed on the opposite page.

It was Tito Dougs' diary - one that he kept when they flew to Paris for a shoot. I spent the first few minutes of the start of my workday reading about how he enjoyed their cozy hotel in Caumartin (and how they pronounce it Camarta), how he loved walking around the city's small alleyways, how he admired the preserved architecture of the place. I could hear his voice through his scribbled handwriting, his stories about The Eiffel Tower and Luxembourg and Versailles.

I couldn't hold back my tears. In 13 days, I will have been missing him for a year.

Tito Dougs always knew what to say. Right now I know I need to make a decision, but I am just a little too afraid. But I think I know what needs to be done.

Thanks Tito Dougs. I love you and miss you dearly.