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
No comments:
Post a Comment