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Coming home

It’s been too damn long.

I was wandering for too damn long.

And not in the sense of wandering the world, how much I would like that to be true (hello Sangria, port and Italian wine), but in the sense of wandering aroud in my mind, in circles mostly and getting nowhere fast. I stared blankly at four bedroom walls for much longer than I’d like to admit, I fell down on way more floors than I’d like to admit, I talked myself out of happiness more than I’d like to admit; never once into it. I screamed at my own lungs for they were not able to breathe, I cried at my own head for it was not able to think, I lay awake many dark nights wishing I was more than a walking tragedy; an endless rain. I’ve been told I write so beautifully and therefore, the inside of my head must be a terrible place. I had to really laugh at that one, partly because it immensely struck me how hard that one hit home. 

That is why it took me so long to post on here again and why I hadn’t written anything consistent in quite a while. My thoughts kept flying around with no way of me ever catching up with them, let alone organizing them in one consisent post — I’ve raised my thought-babies badly, I know. 

But I’ve always been a firm believer of the advice I always give myself — for I am such an intelligent 22y old with all of the world’s wisdom coursing through my veins — which is to never leave this earth with words still inside you, songs unsung, canvases untouched or tears uncried. That is probably why I can never keep any words in my head without them rolling over my tongue or am never able to take a shower — or sit in a car for that matter, ahoy to all the ones who have taken roadtrips with me — without some sort of singing coming out of my lungs.

Because, what if.

What if you stop wandering; stop saying all the stupid words, singing all the stupid songs or doing all the stupid things. You will always wonder. What if.

And that is where my brain got stuck for the better half of 2017; wondering about the wandering. Way too much wondering. And like all naive lovers, die-hard romantics and sad people who eat ice cream for breakfast, I am a poet. And poetry gives you the freedom to speak from the soul; a thing I haven’t dared to do since getting very drunk at new year’s eve (a vision you want to erase asap, trust me, no really). So here I go.

The place I found myself wandering back to time and again over the course of these hectic few months, is a bench along the Antwerp river; water flowing in sync with the wind and my thoughts flowing with them, trying to grasp inspiration for my writing as it kept slipping through my fingers and me running after it as if I were a kid running after a balloon that was let go in some unseen moment and one that would never be retrieved.

That is how I spent sunsets, sunrises and everything in between. Sitting. Wondering. Thinking about how I would never retrieve that balloon again that made me feel so alive, and made me feel empty in return; a feeling unknown to me & my impulsive, chaotic and unruly self.

Coming here felt and still feels therapeutic; the wind speaks to me and the water listens ever so carefully, more than any human could listen to my whirling thoughts. Something about the howling wind that makes me feel like it understands my thoughts, as it is in itself ever so rebellious and unpredictable. Mother Earth calling me home. It taught me that everything in nature flows; even I flow, up and down, maybe a bit too much, too hard, from one extreme to the other, from one edge to the other. Never consistent. Always impulsive. Never in control. Always hanging on too much. Learning to let go has been one of the toughest lessons of my life, but seeing everything move so effortlessly here, gave me a sense of reality again. I learned that you have to let it hurt for a while, until it can’t hurt anymore. For you never know what weapons you’ve got until you go through pain more than flesh and blood can stand. I learned that it is okay to feel, always, it is a necessary flood; to not apologize for my wild, for my inner storm.

Sometimes you have to stop thinking so much, trust the timing of your life and just go where your heart takes you. And before I knew it, I started feeling again, really feeling. Getting completely annoyed, to be completely honest — I wouldn’t be me otherwise, now would I. Strands of hair kept flying into my face with drops of rain falling into my lap, while I was trying to write, staring at a blank screen. And as I felt more annoyed by it all, not being able to look at my screen properly, I started feeling more alive; staring ahead, noticing my surroundings and seeing myself, looking further than I could see — even without glasses (yup, yours truly still refuses to see properly, the stubborness in me is still strong y’all).

My fingers traced the keys of my computer with a lover’s tenderness, and a long lost lover at that who hadn’t been touched for what feels like a time travel to another galaxy. Awkward at first but more intense as time passed, and words that had been stuck behind a wall for too damn long finally got released, flowing faster and faster as the wind stormed passed me. A bird that was freed; a balloon that was retrieved.

The whole conclusion of my, probably, very confused wiriting — trying to be poetic here, don’t blame a girl for trying — is that life is too short for you to not be a wondering wanderer. Even if you get lost. Like I did. And lost the map. And the compass. And your sense of direction. And your common sense — not that I ever had any. haha. self-high-five for making jokes at my own expense, haha. Anyway, you probably understand what I’m getting at (unless my common sense is still lost in the galaxy somewhere, and in that case I apologize because frankly, then it will be lost for all the eternities of time. sorry).

So for the ones who dream of stranger worlds; for the ones who haven’t let themselves wander; for the ones who haven’t let themselves wonder;

Soak up the sun
Feel the waves beneath your feet
Let your hair fly with the wind
Walk into another galaxy
Watch a sunrise
Feel the night
Wake up on a beach
Ride a bike through the city night lights
Say all the stupid things; sing all the stupid songs
Look endlessly for shooting stars
Let go

These are the last days of summer
These are the last days that we could be
What if.

I’ve come home again. 

It’s been too damn long anyway.



(I apologize for all the poetry, it even hurts my brain too.)