“I don't want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.”
“Writers aren’t people exactly. Or, if they’re any good, they’re a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person.”
-F. Scott Fitzgerald
Hey all.
I'm currently writing you because I kind of feel like I have to. I'm exhausted, haven't had a proper night of sleep in days and I'm coming down with a stomach bug, so really, I just want to go to bed. But it's been a week since I left London, and it feels like I at least owe you guys a bit of an update. I don't know why--the people this blog was originally intended for are either here or on vacation and won't be reading these words anyway. Some of you London folk asked me to keep writing, so perhaps I should build on that.
So, Belgium. It's been kind of an odd week, with my parents leaving on a holiday as soon as I got home. I've been busy with work and searching for a place to live, so there's not really much to talk about. I'm moving into a place with a friend of mine, so I got to spend some time with him. We found a place in the centre of Leuven that's almost perfect, but when we went to check it out on Thursday we ran into an enormous traffic jam. We tried to cut through Bertem, which was a really bad idea, ended up losing over half an hour only to arrive at the exact same spot and missed our appointment. Luckily we got to come back Saturday morning, and tomorrow we'll know whether we got the place or not.
That's pretty much it I guess :D I had dinner with my mum and spent the rest of the week working. No days off between now and the end of the month, so don't expect any crazy stories coming either. It's good though--I can use the money. Furniture is expensive.
I finally got my hands on the final collection of the letters of F. Scott Fitzgerald, called Dreams of Youth, and it's everything I had hoped it would be. If you like reading and you have a soul, I can't recommend it enough. The letters he wrote to his daughter while she was away at school and his wife who came down with mental illness are hauntingly beautiful, and not because he gets all sappy (he doesn't). It's an unbelieveable journey to explore the man's psyche, and see how his life and mental state progressed up until his death.
The new Doctor Who premiered last night to godawful reviews, but I've yet to watch it. My Twitter timeline got flooded with messages while I was working but I managed to avoid major spoilers, so I'm stil pretty amped. Steven Moffat is taking a beating, but for some reason, I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I can't wait to see how Peter Capaldi portrays the Doctor, and where this season will lead us. Should be interesting.
The guys from work have also invited me to join their fantasy football league this year, and I'm a little scared. I understand football (quite well, in fact--I started as a football writer) but I have no clue how fantasy football works, and the draft is on Thursday. I'm guessing the draft in itself should be fine (I've tried reading up a bit and I still have a couple of days) but the whole midweek stuff is still complete gibberish to me. It's supposed to be fun, but I work as a sports writer--I really don't want to make a fool of myself. They've also warned me that it's insanely addictive, so we'll see how it goes.
As for London: It's hard not to miss a city like that. There's just so much to readjust to, but so far it's been smooth sailing (except for Monday. I was dying for a bagel with cream cheese. Good luck finding that in Niel). There's not much to miss about life in London, but the city itself is like no other. Obviously my final weeks there were amazing, as I filled those with plenty of great memories and good times with friends. It's probably why I really didn't want to leave when the day arrived, even though I'd been looking forward to coming back home for months.
I don't know. Those last few weeks just made me realise how different it could have been, if only I had done one or two things differently. There were just too many variables working against me, and in the end, I knew I was going to return home at quite an early stage. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel about all of this right now. I know that if one or two things had been different, I'd still be living in London, joyfully and with the full conviction that I made the right choice by moving. I want to say I have no regrets, but I'd be lying.
That said, I'm happy with where I am right now. As soon as we get this appartement-stuff sorted and I can actually return to normality, I'm sure things will work out. And yes, I'll miss the streets of London. It truly is a beautiful place, unlike anything we have here in Belgium. But living in that city is an experience they'll never be able to take away from me. And I'm ready to add some new memories, in a more familiar setting.
If only we could teach the Belgians to speak English, the virtues of a tailored suit and how to stand on the right side of the escalator.
Take care everyone.
Song of the Day: TV on the Radio - Family Tree
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RMv_PuGHSGA
zondag 24 augustus 2014
donderdag 14 augustus 2014
On Goodbye and Knowing You're Not Alone
"You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it."
-Robin Williams
Hey guys,
This is likely going to be my final entry before I get on the train to Belgium on Sunday. There's so much left to write about, and so little time. People have asked me to keep writing once I get home, and I'm not really sure what to do. Writing has always been therapeutic for me, but most of what I write is private. This little thingy here is something of a diary for the people back at home (when they bother to read it), and in my vanity, I was rather proud of the whole "Gianni is no longer In Transit" bit. Perhaps I'll start a new blog, although I can't see myself updating it as regularly as I've done with this one.
The breakup-goggles are squarely on, and London has been beautiful in the past week. For all of the crap I went through in the past six months, this city will forever be one of the most aesthetically pleasing places where I've ever lived. There's so much history, so much to do. There's free museums everywhere, and there's nothing like walking in Westminster or taking the Thames path around sunset. The City skyline and the distant towers of Canary Wharf, the Royal Parks and the hidden streets of West London, the pubs on the bank of the river...
London did its very best to ensure there'd be even more to enjoy in the past week. The Spectra-artwork they placed in Victoria was truly breathtaking, and I still can't understand how something so simple could be so moving. It was basically a collection of lights which from close up lit up every dust-particle in the sky, but when you saw it from a distance, it was a single beam of light shooting up from the centre of the city. It went on for ever and ever, and I didn't travel to a single part of London from which I couldn't see it in the week that it was here. I had a great view from my window as well, and I swear to God, I must have spent hours looking at it.
Then there was the Supermoon, which everyone could obviously see. But over the skyline of London, it truly was something special.
Also, there was free Ben & Jerry's ice cream this week. Winning.
Now, we've all heard of this week's big news, the death of one Robin Williams. It's funny how everyone seemed moved by the passing of a comedian when IS are doing their thing in the Arab world and Palestine is a mess, but that is a whole different discussion. For me, Robin Williams was an actor who played in some of my favourite films of all time. Working with Turner Media we got wind of his passing quite quickly through CNN, and it was actually nice to see the world realise what had happened, and the slow, steady stream of condolences getting started.
His passing hit close to home for an entirely different reason, however. Stories of mental health always strike me quite hard, and this one was no different. The way certain news outlets and celebrities reacted to his passing were sub-human, and hundreds of journalists ignored any sense of deontology we work with when it comes to reporting suicides (which are contagious, in case you didn't know. I know that sounds odd, but there's plenty of scientific studies that back up this phenomenom).
In the year 2014, the stigma surrounding mental health issues should be long gone. The fact people still regard it as a weakness is the main reason so many people suffering with depression or worse never take the single most important step we all have to make--seek medical attention. Finding a qualified professional to help you when times get rough is vital, and one of the first steps one takes in the process of recovering.
I know I'm a terrible example of this, which is why I'm typing these words. Because, as much as I wish it wasn't so, I know several of the people reading this, and the struggle they face every day :) I'm 25 years old, and I've made plenty of bad decisions. But the single biggest mistake I ever made was to dwell on my transgressions, and allow the mistakes I made in the past to determine my future.
I know now that at any given moment, there at least five persons in this world I could call if I'm having a bad day. I know these people will either pick up the phone or get back to me as soon as they can, and the only thing they want to do is help. For years I told myself (and I still do to this day) the reason I never picked up the phone is because of some missplaced sense of heroism, that I don't wish to bother other people with my issues. Life can be tough enough as it is--there's no need to burden others with my own problems.
And that's one of the biggest lies I tell myself on a regular basis. Because the truth is, the reason I don't pick up the phone is because I'm a coward. I'm afraid of what these people will think of me, and how they'll react. I'm afraid that what I say will push these people away, when I know full well all they want is what's best for me.
The point I'm trying to make is that we all have these people, even if we don't realise it or refuse to accept it (and there are days I completely do the latter and feel like I'm the loneliest 25-year-old on this planet). I will never, ever pretend to know what it is you're going through, because it simply isn't possible. But I also promise you right here and right now that I will never hang up the phone if you're in need of help. Ever.
I've come a long way, but there are still plenty of days I want the whole world to burn. Those are the days I question my very existance, and the intentions of the people who tell me they'll always be there for me. The days I think it'd be better if I simply lied down and stopped breathing, and I dwell on everything that has happened, everything that hasn't happened and everything that should happen, but never will.
Those days pass. We're all allowed to feel like that sometimes, and those of us who have that dreaded piece of paper that says we have a legitimate excuse to pop pills and curse the world should never feel ashamed of some of the dark, dreary thoughts that accompany those days. But neither should anybody else. It's okay. And I promise you, the day will pass. It always does, and if you feel like it won't, I will gladly pick up the phone. Not to tell you it'll be okay; to listen to why it isn't right now. Because in the end, sometimes that's all we need.
I apologise to the casual readers or those of you who have no idea when I talk about my experiences with mental health issues. It's hardly relevant now--I promised myself I wouldn't allow anything a doctor told me to define who I am a long time ago, and it's one of the few promises I made to myself that I've been able to keep.
On a side note: If you have no experience with mental health and what it can do to a person, and you are of the opinion Robin Williams "should have or could have," I invite you to educate yourself on the subject. I won't pretend to know or understand what the man went through in his final years or final hours. But for those of us who fight this fight every single day, the realisation that your life's work is either complete or has gone to waste can be devastating, and it can hit you at any given time. If you add alcohol or substance-abuse to the mix, you end up with a deadly cocktail. As for me, I will stick to the same message I posted when I first found out. Have a safe journey, my Captain, and thank you for everything. And don't forget: Second star to the right, and straight on 'till morning.
Well, this is not what I had intended my final blogpost to look like :D I apologise once again. I'm in the middle of the first wave of packing, with two full suitcases being picked up by a special company tomorrow (between the hours of 9am and 5pm, because it's not like I work night shifts and need sleep). It looks like I'll easily get all of my stuff home, and I'll be donating quite a bit of clothing to charity anyway (they won't lay a finger on my books. Greedy bastards). I'll be working tomorrow, and I've taken time off from work until the 20th of August. My dad's leaving on a holiday the day after I get home (the 18th, that is) and I have to be at home on the 19th to collect my luggage. I also have a bit of laundry to do, but that can wait.
Saturday is reserved for drinks with Elise and her Belgian friend, and I still need to pick up some stuff for my brother and find a birthday present for my dad (I still haven't figured out what to get). If there's anything you want/need from London, please let me know asap.
For those of you who want to meet up once I get home: I'll do my best to accomodate you as much as I can (there's quite a few of you), but remember that I'll be busy with work and finding an appartement asap (I'll invite you to the house-warming, if my roomie signs off on your presence. Deal? Don't worry, if you're funny or you have boobs he'll be cool) and I no longer have a car. Belgian public transport isn't nearly the well-oiled machine I've gotten used to here in London (although, in fairness, TFL is quite pricey), but I'll still need some time to save up enough money to buy a decent car (I'm not buying another Rover with a fried electrical circuit, and I'll have my doubts about a Mercedes that refuses to start less than 24 hours before I have to do my driver's exam, and the place it stalls is my ex-girlfriends' driveway minutes before her parents get home. "Awkward" doesn't even begin to cover it). Oh, and I don't plan on going anywhere :) so there's no rush.
So, feel free to contact me and I'll see what I can do. No Pat, I'm not coming to the August 23rd birthday-bash. I can't come back to London days after leaving and I'll already be missing the Doctor Who season premiere because I'm working late. I can't believe you'd plan a birthday-bash on that day. But thank you for introducing me to the genius that is gin&tonic.
Okay, I guess that's it. Like I said, there's so much left to write. Akercoke spoke of "Words that Go Unspoken, Deeds That Go Undone," but in my experience, it's vital a writer learns when to stop. I don't want to end this. All of this, it all went wrong right from the start. I've always hated endings and goodbyes, but a story can't be complete without an ending. This isn't my story--it's the end of one of the strangest chapters of my life. But if you ask me, I'm just getting started.
Take care everyone. I'll be seeing you.
Song of the day: This band is something of an indie-cult band, as they wrote the song that's used as the opening theme for the truly amazing Community ( At Least It Was Here, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qEGbjR1Y9Qo ). They also had a cameo appearance in How I met Your Mother, as Lily and Marshall's wedding band (remember the episode where they crashed a high school prom to check out whether they could play their song? Yeah, that's them). They're actually not bad at all, and I've been listening to this song quite a bit in the past few days.
The 88 - No One Here (acoustic version)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oNeETStJek0
-Robin Williams
Hey guys,
This is likely going to be my final entry before I get on the train to Belgium on Sunday. There's so much left to write about, and so little time. People have asked me to keep writing once I get home, and I'm not really sure what to do. Writing has always been therapeutic for me, but most of what I write is private. This little thingy here is something of a diary for the people back at home (when they bother to read it), and in my vanity, I was rather proud of the whole "Gianni is no longer In Transit" bit. Perhaps I'll start a new blog, although I can't see myself updating it as regularly as I've done with this one.
The breakup-goggles are squarely on, and London has been beautiful in the past week. For all of the crap I went through in the past six months, this city will forever be one of the most aesthetically pleasing places where I've ever lived. There's so much history, so much to do. There's free museums everywhere, and there's nothing like walking in Westminster or taking the Thames path around sunset. The City skyline and the distant towers of Canary Wharf, the Royal Parks and the hidden streets of West London, the pubs on the bank of the river...
London did its very best to ensure there'd be even more to enjoy in the past week. The Spectra-artwork they placed in Victoria was truly breathtaking, and I still can't understand how something so simple could be so moving. It was basically a collection of lights which from close up lit up every dust-particle in the sky, but when you saw it from a distance, it was a single beam of light shooting up from the centre of the city. It went on for ever and ever, and I didn't travel to a single part of London from which I couldn't see it in the week that it was here. I had a great view from my window as well, and I swear to God, I must have spent hours looking at it.
Then there was the Supermoon, which everyone could obviously see. But over the skyline of London, it truly was something special.
Also, there was free Ben & Jerry's ice cream this week. Winning.
Now, we've all heard of this week's big news, the death of one Robin Williams. It's funny how everyone seemed moved by the passing of a comedian when IS are doing their thing in the Arab world and Palestine is a mess, but that is a whole different discussion. For me, Robin Williams was an actor who played in some of my favourite films of all time. Working with Turner Media we got wind of his passing quite quickly through CNN, and it was actually nice to see the world realise what had happened, and the slow, steady stream of condolences getting started.
His passing hit close to home for an entirely different reason, however. Stories of mental health always strike me quite hard, and this one was no different. The way certain news outlets and celebrities reacted to his passing were sub-human, and hundreds of journalists ignored any sense of deontology we work with when it comes to reporting suicides (which are contagious, in case you didn't know. I know that sounds odd, but there's plenty of scientific studies that back up this phenomenom).
In the year 2014, the stigma surrounding mental health issues should be long gone. The fact people still regard it as a weakness is the main reason so many people suffering with depression or worse never take the single most important step we all have to make--seek medical attention. Finding a qualified professional to help you when times get rough is vital, and one of the first steps one takes in the process of recovering.
I know I'm a terrible example of this, which is why I'm typing these words. Because, as much as I wish it wasn't so, I know several of the people reading this, and the struggle they face every day :) I'm 25 years old, and I've made plenty of bad decisions. But the single biggest mistake I ever made was to dwell on my transgressions, and allow the mistakes I made in the past to determine my future.
I know now that at any given moment, there at least five persons in this world I could call if I'm having a bad day. I know these people will either pick up the phone or get back to me as soon as they can, and the only thing they want to do is help. For years I told myself (and I still do to this day) the reason I never picked up the phone is because of some missplaced sense of heroism, that I don't wish to bother other people with my issues. Life can be tough enough as it is--there's no need to burden others with my own problems.
And that's one of the biggest lies I tell myself on a regular basis. Because the truth is, the reason I don't pick up the phone is because I'm a coward. I'm afraid of what these people will think of me, and how they'll react. I'm afraid that what I say will push these people away, when I know full well all they want is what's best for me.
The point I'm trying to make is that we all have these people, even if we don't realise it or refuse to accept it (and there are days I completely do the latter and feel like I'm the loneliest 25-year-old on this planet). I will never, ever pretend to know what it is you're going through, because it simply isn't possible. But I also promise you right here and right now that I will never hang up the phone if you're in need of help. Ever.
I've come a long way, but there are still plenty of days I want the whole world to burn. Those are the days I question my very existance, and the intentions of the people who tell me they'll always be there for me. The days I think it'd be better if I simply lied down and stopped breathing, and I dwell on everything that has happened, everything that hasn't happened and everything that should happen, but never will.
Those days pass. We're all allowed to feel like that sometimes, and those of us who have that dreaded piece of paper that says we have a legitimate excuse to pop pills and curse the world should never feel ashamed of some of the dark, dreary thoughts that accompany those days. But neither should anybody else. It's okay. And I promise you, the day will pass. It always does, and if you feel like it won't, I will gladly pick up the phone. Not to tell you it'll be okay; to listen to why it isn't right now. Because in the end, sometimes that's all we need.
I apologise to the casual readers or those of you who have no idea when I talk about my experiences with mental health issues. It's hardly relevant now--I promised myself I wouldn't allow anything a doctor told me to define who I am a long time ago, and it's one of the few promises I made to myself that I've been able to keep.
On a side note: If you have no experience with mental health and what it can do to a person, and you are of the opinion Robin Williams "should have or could have," I invite you to educate yourself on the subject. I won't pretend to know or understand what the man went through in his final years or final hours. But for those of us who fight this fight every single day, the realisation that your life's work is either complete or has gone to waste can be devastating, and it can hit you at any given time. If you add alcohol or substance-abuse to the mix, you end up with a deadly cocktail. As for me, I will stick to the same message I posted when I first found out. Have a safe journey, my Captain, and thank you for everything. And don't forget: Second star to the right, and straight on 'till morning.
Well, this is not what I had intended my final blogpost to look like :D I apologise once again. I'm in the middle of the first wave of packing, with two full suitcases being picked up by a special company tomorrow (between the hours of 9am and 5pm, because it's not like I work night shifts and need sleep). It looks like I'll easily get all of my stuff home, and I'll be donating quite a bit of clothing to charity anyway (they won't lay a finger on my books. Greedy bastards). I'll be working tomorrow, and I've taken time off from work until the 20th of August. My dad's leaving on a holiday the day after I get home (the 18th, that is) and I have to be at home on the 19th to collect my luggage. I also have a bit of laundry to do, but that can wait.
Saturday is reserved for drinks with Elise and her Belgian friend, and I still need to pick up some stuff for my brother and find a birthday present for my dad (I still haven't figured out what to get). If there's anything you want/need from London, please let me know asap.
For those of you who want to meet up once I get home: I'll do my best to accomodate you as much as I can (there's quite a few of you), but remember that I'll be busy with work and finding an appartement asap (I'll invite you to the house-warming, if my roomie signs off on your presence. Deal? Don't worry, if you're funny or you have boobs he'll be cool) and I no longer have a car. Belgian public transport isn't nearly the well-oiled machine I've gotten used to here in London (although, in fairness, TFL is quite pricey), but I'll still need some time to save up enough money to buy a decent car (I'm not buying another Rover with a fried electrical circuit, and I'll have my doubts about a Mercedes that refuses to start less than 24 hours before I have to do my driver's exam, and the place it stalls is my ex-girlfriends' driveway minutes before her parents get home. "Awkward" doesn't even begin to cover it). Oh, and I don't plan on going anywhere :) so there's no rush.
So, feel free to contact me and I'll see what I can do. No Pat, I'm not coming to the August 23rd birthday-bash. I can't come back to London days after leaving and I'll already be missing the Doctor Who season premiere because I'm working late. I can't believe you'd plan a birthday-bash on that day. But thank you for introducing me to the genius that is gin&tonic.
Okay, I guess that's it. Like I said, there's so much left to write. Akercoke spoke of "Words that Go Unspoken, Deeds That Go Undone," but in my experience, it's vital a writer learns when to stop. I don't want to end this. All of this, it all went wrong right from the start. I've always hated endings and goodbyes, but a story can't be complete without an ending. This isn't my story--it's the end of one of the strangest chapters of my life. But if you ask me, I'm just getting started.
Take care everyone. I'll be seeing you.
Song of the day: This band is something of an indie-cult band, as they wrote the song that's used as the opening theme for the truly amazing Community ( At Least It Was Here, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qEGbjR1Y9Qo ). They also had a cameo appearance in How I met Your Mother, as Lily and Marshall's wedding band (remember the episode where they crashed a high school prom to check out whether they could play their song? Yeah, that's them). They're actually not bad at all, and I've been listening to this song quite a bit in the past few days.
The 88 - No One Here (acoustic version)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oNeETStJek0
dinsdag 5 augustus 2014
On Expectations and Retrospect
“I'm incapable of describing the feeling with which I left. I wouldn't want it ever to be repeated, but I would have considered myself unfortunate if I'd never experienced it.”
-Ivan Turgenev
Sorry I haven't written you guys in a while :) I've been meaning to, but I've just been so busy in these last couple of weeks. I know, that's the lamest excuse in the book, but it's true. Between work and trying to see as much of the city as I possibly can before I leave, I've hardly slept. Which is why I did absolutely nothing today. Literally. Actually, that's not true--I went to the supermarket. And that's it. Listen to music, read and watch TV. Or in other words, living the good life.
I've made a list of things I still have to write about before I leave (I'm that weirdo with the notebooks. I'm not sorry) and the plan was to write it all down today (which would make for a looooong essay), but I don't really feel like it. I'll do the whole "things I'll miss" later, or when I get home (spoiler: After careful consideration, I've come to the conclusion that the thing I'll miss the most is speaking English. It's not that I've forgotten how to speak Dutch, I Skype with my dad every couple of weeks. But I just find English comes easier to me, especially after seven-something months of using it on a nearly exclusive basis. Going back to combining the two is not going to be fun).
Today really was a day of retrospect. I made the decision to move to London in November of last year, and seeing how I'm now moving back within the year, a part of me started to wonder what it was all for, you know? What have I actually achieved in these last six months?
When I set out this was supposed to be a permanent relocation, after all. Things were bad, and as they say, if you're not happy with where you are, you have to remember you're not a tree--you can leave. I had always wanted to move to a big city like London, so it seemed like the perfect time to follow one of my dreams. It's August now, and one could say the only thing I've managed to do since I made that decision is find a job I love, with a company I love working for.
But that's not how I feel, not at all. It sounds ridiculous, or like a massive cliché, but I really feel like I'm no longer that guy who packed his bags and moved to this place six months ago. Maybe it's the break-up goggles talking (you know, how everything seems so much better or more beautiful just before you leave it behind), although I don't think so. It's not that I suddenly feel like this whole London-experience wasn't as bad, or that I feel like I shouldn't be moving back. Don't get me wrong--I love this city. I may not have made tons of friends, but I still had some good times here. Maybe not that many, but that's not really relevant at this point.
It just dawned on me today that it was all worth it. All of the lonely nights, the stress over not getting all my paperwork in order in time, the complete mental breakdown in May and all of the cr*p I decided not to write about because, frankly, no one wants to read that. It was all worth it.
I came to London to forget, and that's something I'm not good at. I was miserable, lonely and I had no idea where my life was going or what it was I wanted to do. I so desperately wanted everything to change, and I wanted to find a home here. But I already have a home, and while I usually follow up that statement with the words "for better or for worse," it simply isn't true. It's definitely for the better.
I cannot express how happy I am that this self-imposed exile is over, how happy I am that I get to come home. And that's why this entire experience, every miserable second of it, has been worth it. Not because I understand the meaning of the word "home." Because London gave me my life back, and six months ago, I couldn't find anything to look forward to. I wasn't living, I was surviving. And that's no longer the case.
Sure, I don't know what things will be like when I get home, and it scares the hell out of me. I'm 25 years old--I have no idea what the future looks like. But I discovered what it means to hope again in this city, and that hope makes the journey towards that future one I'm looking forward to, instead of the end result.
No, London wasn't what I had hoped it would be. It wasn't even what I was expecting. And that's okay.
This chapter is nearly over, and I can't wait to start the next one. And I am so, so happy that I'll get to do that surrounded by the people I hold dearest, and who I love more than they'll ever realise, in the one place I cherish more than anywhere else in this world: Home.
Song of the Day: Band of Horses - The Funeral
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UPW8y6woTBI
-Ivan Turgenev
Sorry I haven't written you guys in a while :) I've been meaning to, but I've just been so busy in these last couple of weeks. I know, that's the lamest excuse in the book, but it's true. Between work and trying to see as much of the city as I possibly can before I leave, I've hardly slept. Which is why I did absolutely nothing today. Literally. Actually, that's not true--I went to the supermarket. And that's it. Listen to music, read and watch TV. Or in other words, living the good life.
I've made a list of things I still have to write about before I leave (I'm that weirdo with the notebooks. I'm not sorry) and the plan was to write it all down today (which would make for a looooong essay), but I don't really feel like it. I'll do the whole "things I'll miss" later, or when I get home (spoiler: After careful consideration, I've come to the conclusion that the thing I'll miss the most is speaking English. It's not that I've forgotten how to speak Dutch, I Skype with my dad every couple of weeks. But I just find English comes easier to me, especially after seven-something months of using it on a nearly exclusive basis. Going back to combining the two is not going to be fun).
Today really was a day of retrospect. I made the decision to move to London in November of last year, and seeing how I'm now moving back within the year, a part of me started to wonder what it was all for, you know? What have I actually achieved in these last six months?
When I set out this was supposed to be a permanent relocation, after all. Things were bad, and as they say, if you're not happy with where you are, you have to remember you're not a tree--you can leave. I had always wanted to move to a big city like London, so it seemed like the perfect time to follow one of my dreams. It's August now, and one could say the only thing I've managed to do since I made that decision is find a job I love, with a company I love working for.
But that's not how I feel, not at all. It sounds ridiculous, or like a massive cliché, but I really feel like I'm no longer that guy who packed his bags and moved to this place six months ago. Maybe it's the break-up goggles talking (you know, how everything seems so much better or more beautiful just before you leave it behind), although I don't think so. It's not that I suddenly feel like this whole London-experience wasn't as bad, or that I feel like I shouldn't be moving back. Don't get me wrong--I love this city. I may not have made tons of friends, but I still had some good times here. Maybe not that many, but that's not really relevant at this point.
It just dawned on me today that it was all worth it. All of the lonely nights, the stress over not getting all my paperwork in order in time, the complete mental breakdown in May and all of the cr*p I decided not to write about because, frankly, no one wants to read that. It was all worth it.
I came to London to forget, and that's something I'm not good at. I was miserable, lonely and I had no idea where my life was going or what it was I wanted to do. I so desperately wanted everything to change, and I wanted to find a home here. But I already have a home, and while I usually follow up that statement with the words "for better or for worse," it simply isn't true. It's definitely for the better.
I cannot express how happy I am that this self-imposed exile is over, how happy I am that I get to come home. And that's why this entire experience, every miserable second of it, has been worth it. Not because I understand the meaning of the word "home." Because London gave me my life back, and six months ago, I couldn't find anything to look forward to. I wasn't living, I was surviving. And that's no longer the case.
Sure, I don't know what things will be like when I get home, and it scares the hell out of me. I'm 25 years old--I have no idea what the future looks like. But I discovered what it means to hope again in this city, and that hope makes the journey towards that future one I'm looking forward to, instead of the end result.
No, London wasn't what I had hoped it would be. It wasn't even what I was expecting. And that's okay.
This chapter is nearly over, and I can't wait to start the next one. And I am so, so happy that I'll get to do that surrounded by the people I hold dearest, and who I love more than they'll ever realise, in the one place I cherish more than anywhere else in this world: Home.
Song of the Day: Band of Horses - The Funeral
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UPW8y6woTBI
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