yoghurt cup 110

• Somewhere out there, 17 hours of flight away from my little room, it's all happening again.

yoghurt cup 109

• Oh wow.
• Can you believe it? Last time I wrote a blog post, it was the first one from Germany. And here I am again after 6 whirlwind months that were probably the most memorable time of my life so far, sitting in my room full of postcards and maps and train tickets that I collected from all of my trips, feeling two thousand things but not one slice of sleepiness thanks to the jet-lag. Time sure does fly when you enjoy yourself huh?

• Where do I even begin to describe it? I didn't even have time to stop and write a blog about it. Trust me, I've written a lot in my phone, in my notebook, but a blog post apparently requires much more time and contribution than just a bunch of scribbles. And when you've written for long enough, you feel less comfortable to share them on the internet, where people can somewhat find out and read about it.

• I wonder who even reads this blog anymore except for me. I've been writing just for myself for such a long time, but secretly, in a little corner of my mind, I still wish for this blog to have an audience. Every writer needs a good reader, and I'm too much of a show-off to want that haha
• When I think about my passport, about my postcard wall back in that room number 5008 in Bielefeld, I like to think "this girl's traveled the world". I'm proud, I've outdone myself in those trips, just the little things that I thought I'd never be able to do, like figuring out the tram system in Berlin, carrying heavy backpacks in Paris, having a scar on my knee for falling from a bike in Amsterdam, doing couchsurfing, and just being alone and content at the same time. The world is large, and oh do I know that. I've met people who's traveled much much farther than me, and who has all kinds of stories to tell that's gonna make you burst out laughing, but at the same time secretly admire their journey. I've met people covered in scars and smiles, telling the story of how I shouldn't be ashamed of my marks, and how they've fought a deadly fight. The world is still large, still full of wonderful things to see, and I'm feeling proud to unveil one little page of it.

• We never dated, and we never broke up. It all seems like a joke, and we just jokingly tell people "oh, she's my 'it's complicated'", when in fact, what we feel is just too simple. We want an irresponsible relationship where everybody gets their dream. We found each other in the silently chaotic corner that is Germany, I was drunk and he was standing with the thought, why don't I just get this over with already. After all, I got to be the girl in the relationship for a little time, and he has somebody to practice his romance to. And jokingly, we tell each other, 'I'm not waiting for you anymore, it's just pointless'. Probably after some time I'm gonna read back to this and be surprised at myself for feeling that much for a person at that time, gonna lay my back down to the sofa thinking, what a good time I've had. It's too beautiful to spoil that although I'm sad that it ended, I wouldn't have done anything differently to have more time with him. I miss him terribly, I really do, but it's the kind of missing when you don't think about them the entire day, you don't wish for them to be here, and you don't look back at the photos you took together in your phone. It's the kind of missing where you treasure the time you've had, the things you've done to each other, that perfect poem without any spelling mistakes, the beautiful notebook, the little note that says 'Welcome home!'. I've always found it extremely hard to move on, cause the word 'moving on' itself is a long and painful process, in which you don't know when it happens, and I always end up being the one who sits somewhere in a coffee shop, with a notebook, a pen and too many emotions and feelings that I don't know where to put. I always lose in the game of, who will move on first, and I know for sure, I will lose this time.

• Gabriele and I used to sit in the train going to the airport. It was a rainy Monday, when I traveled to Italy and he traveled home. As a habit, he started singing that yodeling song that he'd been practicing for a good one month, this time so quietly like a whisper, and after the first verse, he said, 'it's not funny anymore'. I still remember that moment, cause if you know Gabriele, you're always gonna see him being hyperactive and giving out this never-ending positive energy that just attracts people like sugar attracting ants. In that slight moment I saw sadness in his eyes. I think for all of us exchanging kids, we all have that look after going home. Some call it 'post-Erasmus depression', but I think we're just dreamers, slowly waking up from our best dreams.
• It's gonna take me some time to find the pattern now that I'm back home, suddenly with a whole new set of things to do. Learn to love the city again Sam, it's an order.