Melancholia and arousal

I’m slowly pulling my roots from the ground, inch by inch. Packing my life away. Terminating my commitments and ending my engagements. Saying goodbye to the place that has been my home for the last two years - the streets, houses and the night sky. Getting ready to part from the people and habits that has been my life. It’s painful and scary but at the same time exhilarating.

I’ve done this before. In fact this is what I do. This is what I have been doing for the last six years. Starting new lives, just to leave them after one or two years. I feel a bit like a broken mirror, every piece reflecting a bit of the world but they aren’t combined to depict a uniform representation. As do I feel shattered and scattered all over the place, with no apparent place to call home and multiple, often contradictory, stories constituting my life. This chapter will soon be closed and I will start a new radically different one on the other side of the world. The mirror will break into yet another piece.

If all goes according to plan I’ll be gone by September.

The shock of conclusive success

I’ve been in a state of stunned astonishment for the last month. I accomplished what I set out to do one and a half years ago. No unresolved rests or lingering remnant issues. An actual ending. A plan fully achieved. That’s rare. So rare that it made me sit in quiet confusion for weeks. In addition I also received the cancellation of my plans for the next two years.

The absence and emptiness has been fiercely evident.

The road ahead has been cleared and I’ve turned my gaze towards new horizons, planning for great adventures elsewhere. Nothing is what it was and nothing will ever be the same again.