Thursday, August 27, 2015

Where all the things meet

Dear future hubster,
I'm afraid I'm developing a twisted, with-or-without-you love affair with (my corner of) Africa.
A love story we both know to be doomed from the beginning. One that we both know can't go on for much longer, let alone forever. One that we, I, am nonetheless unable to quit just yet.
Because even though the everydays tire and annoy me sometimes, there are moments when the beauty of it just hits me, intensely as the green of the Rwandan hills, and leaves me with an over-exaggerated, deep longing, a bundle of feelings I'm not ready to give up.
In those moments of madness, I try to remind myself that I'm looking at this unreal affair, that has grown on me slowly and sneakily, from inside an air-conditioned car, where „You Are So Beautiful” and „You Light Up My Life” play. That I'm excited about coming home because I've been away, and there is nowehere else I belong right now. That it's always easier to stay with what has become familiar than it is to move on to the overwhelmingly unknown.
This surreal relationship is also borderline abusive, in the sense that sometimes I feel guilty for wanting to leave at some point, for knowing I will leave. I feel guilty beause it is not enough, because I think I am not trying hard enough; no matter how well I know that leaving will be the only way for me to go on.
And even though I know I haven't been this happy, this aware of being happy for quite a while, I somehow also know that my feelings are this intense because I haven't been this aware of something eventually, but inevitably, coming to an end either.
It is beautifully painful, and let's be honest, dear future hubster: we both know I love bittersweet.

I

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