This is a text I wrote a few days ago. I was standing at this square, watching the vapor float around in the air and took a picture. I realized, that those two people look like a couple in my picture, but where actually not related at all. They just saw each other for a few seconds before walking further…
The following text is only mildly picture related and a first try to do something new… Leave a comment in case you’d like to read it. In case you don’t like to – never mind.
Life is a series of arrivals and departures. My life at least.
A never ending, always continuing, meander of arrivals in anxiety and pain and fear, total chaos and departures. Either way in tears of loss and mourning, disappointment and sadness; total, furious and burning anger, the sudden need to shout abuse at someone and a stained memory or joy. Yes, there might be joy. The joyful departure to a wonderful place, returning to Riga, to Anton, visiting him in Helsinki, Düsseldorf, Berlin, knowing that there will be stuff to do, to see, a home to come back to and all those amazing things I know and love. Driving away from home, for the first time on my own in a car and having the freedom to decide where to go and what to do. Seeing something new and exiting or well known and familiar, coming home or leaving… There is joy. And as anything positive it is fragile and of a short duration, sometimes very small and imperfect and stained and questionable but it is in fact joy. If you try to hold it to close, it vanishes. Like the flower you loved and took care for each and every day that finally drowned. Because you didn’t know when to stop.
And there is sadness. In leaving him behind, leaving Riga for six weeks of hostility, in not going somewhere where I’m welcome, in leaving behind friends and family and the good people who have always welcomed me and the bad people who you still like out of a random act of kindness. In leaving behind loved ones and realizing that there is still a certain kind of strangeness and a little spark of happiness when seeing someone you had long forgotten about or at least tried to forget.
When you have to tell your ex – girlfriend, that you changed and done wrong and realized stuff and waited to long to do anything about that. And that there was a point of no return and one ignored it and walked on further, knowing you can’t go back to where you came from, because you changed and tried to adjust yourself way too often and finally don’t even want to go back anymore.
And walk away, with the feeling of having lost something, but knowing that – for better or worse – It was the only thing to do, because it wasn’t all easy, wonderful and safe, because it was stained and damaged, as everything it but sometimes the cracks come to show and there is no point in going on. And sometimes you just don’t want to try anymore. But it is sad anyways. And hard and a weird thing to do. It is hard to abandon dreams and ideals and the dreamridden way you saw all of it. It is hard to leave your idealised views behind.
Or a boyfriend at the railway station, in tears and without any kind of hope, well knowing that the in-betweens are hard and will be painful and there are five more years to go. Crying on trains, because you love too much and fear and hate and forget and know too much and it is all somehow blurred and awfully awkward anyways.
Getting asked, what happened to you and after explaining there is this kind/understanding/cheerful/surprised/disgusted/repelled look in the other ones face, depending on whether I talked about a boy or a girlfriend. Acceptance. Yeah.
I don’t want to cry on subways, I don’t want to cry in trains.
And I don’t want to shout abuse at someone, wish a place to be torn apart and in pieces and burn to ashes for the things that happened. I don’t want to hate or miss.
I want to be small and tiny, invisible, vanishing and peaceful and loud, noisy, against everything. I want to stand up and scream for my ideals and run against a wall of people who try to stop me and think and be free and know way more and way less at the same time.
I want to be plain and stupid and stubborn – because it seems so easy.
And understanding, knowing, wise and peaceful and everything that I am and I am not…
I want to be what they want me to be. And the complete opposite. I want to be what I could be, what I would or should be and I don’t want to regret.
I don’t want to stumble at the edges of where consciousness and nightmares meet. I want to dream and be awake and know that I am in fact (not) dreaming.
I want to remember the good things and forget about the crying Frenchmen at the Nice memorial or the crying little girl with her stuffed animal, or my ex or all those passed loves. I want to forget about people and keep on seeing the good things in them.
I want to find that little sparkle of happiness and kindness in others and nourish, cherish, capture, keep it. I want to experience kindness and give it back and hold someone warm and be held myself.
I want to be less naïve or a little more stupid, brighter and duller and I want the complicated things to become easy but still be somehow complicated enough to be a challenge…
I am what I am. And what I am not. I could be better and worse and there is this silent wish to be everything at once.
I want more arrivals and less departures. But for arriving somewhere, there is a need of leaving behind something else. There can’t be any progress without realising that something isn’t the end. Or perfect, wonderful or even good. And that there has to be something else after all.
I want to be normal and silent and loud and joyful. I want to be human, stop regretting and I want to live.
I want people to be kind to each other and a certain sparkle in someone’s eyes. And I am willing to work on that.
And even though it is more likely to find the holy grail and teach me German grammar in less than a week than getting all those stuff into one concept of living – I will be dreaming. And one day I might start to be awake again and finally happy about that.