… but not feeling quite like it?
Tomorrow will mark the end of the second week of me being back home. Although it was a bit too much for me to handle, these two weeks hardly gave me any time to meditate on the ordeal of being here (or there, as I’m writing this post from the seaside).
The thing that struck me the most was how the world changed around you; people that you once knew no longer say hi to you, or places you once went, are either gone or turned to something else entirely. On the other hand, lots of things come in your direction in a very short time: new people, new sensations, secret handshakes, cheap alcohol, and promiscuous women.
Coming home also marked a feeling of closeness that I thought forgotten; In general, I have come to notice that the young people from my home town are more lively, funny, and filled with some really nice positive vibes, even though the economic conditions are dire. This whole change and everything makes you aware of how unimportant your person is.
As tempted as I am , I shouldn’t mention some piquant details about how “interested” were a couple of chicks with ages ranging from 16 to 18 years about what it means to be a student in Amsterdam. That’s what you get when you live in a small town. Your reputation precedes you, quote the raven.
I guess this is a major drawback of being home. Being in a way “forced” to talk about what’s it like to be out there, I am still anchored in that particular place, or that particular time. And so, I am becoming nothing more than a shell, a witness that has to constantly remember, draw comparisons, or just speak about what I am doing, smoking, eating, baking, fucking, paying (the list really goes on) in the wonderful city of Amsterdam. Always drawing comparisons, always creating a bridge between two completely different worlds.