Goodbye, Belgium.

    I’ve just moved into my new home.

    Coats and pants have been hung, tees and underwear have been folded and put away in the drawers. My old toothbrush is in the trash – new home, new toothbrush. I have a new desk to study and to work from. Great kitchen, great bathroom, great bedroom, great housemates.

    Excitement should be running all over my body, but it’s not. Instead, there is a numbness cursing through my veins, stubbornly making the start of this new phase in my life entirely gray.

    “How do you know if you can trust people?”

    “Well, that’s the thing about trust… You put your faith in people, seeing the best in them, believing them when they say they are sorry and that they want a second chance, a fresh start… You hope for the best. And, if they screw up again, then it’s not the person who did the trusting’s fault… It’s shame on the other person for breaking their promise; shame on them for lying.”

    I gave away the most precious things I have to offer to anyone – my complete trust, my caring, my support. In return for all this, in the end, I saw people I love getting hurt for no goddamn reason, and also saw how incredibly naive I’d been.

    Apologising to everyone that got hurt for the part I played in the whole situation doesn’t make my self-loathing and self-doubt go away. How did it it go from everyone is so fucking happy to we are all fucking hurting? I did the only thing that was in my power to do – I left. Without proper goodbyes nor closure.

    So now, one second I’m fine, entertained by all the distractions that moving to a new city grants me. The next second, I’m curled up on the floor, drowning in questions I can’t answer, crying, holding myself so tightly that my fingernails carve into my skin because if I let go of myself I will fall apart. Break into a million pieces. And there will be no around to put them back together, because it’s just me, myself and I again.

    How could I have been so stupid to have put myself in this situation. How. Why couldn’t I have seen it coming. Am I unable to tell the good from the bad. Was I just a marionette, a pawn in a carefully concocted plan to achieve… Whatever?? Were we not friends at all?

    Heal faster this time, please.”, a voice whispers in my mind.

    How? When I’m still trying to understand? How, without closure?

    Except… I’ll never have closure.

    I asked so many questions the last times we spoke, and you never answered them. I suppose the only thing I can do now is try to wrap all of the mess inside my mind and all the betrayal that makes my heart ache, bottle it up and toss it away. Let them drown in the ocean, rather than let myself drown in thoughts tied up to you.

    Though the clouds might be gray in Düsseldorf right now, I will do my best to not let my mood match them. Every conversation in which I’ve ever mentioned your name is gone from my phone and you’re hundred of miles away now. You made a mistake by using me, I made a mistake by putting myself in a position to be used. That’s okay, though, because we are humans, we make mistakes. Lesson learned.

    It’s a new city, a new school, and new people.

    I don’t owe anything to anyone anymore. My birthday is coming soon, too, so… I guess I’ll take all of this and force myself to embrace the fresh start.

    I’ll try my best to not loathe myself for breaking down in tears while randomly walking in the streets, while cooking or even while sleeping. Because these tears aren’t for you, they are for me, for being stupidly trusting, for grieving the huge chunk of innocence that I just lost. The huge chunk of innocence I wrongly held on to, despite past traumas. I think my body’s still in shock by how sudden everything was.  These tears are also for grieving the loss of a friend I cared so much about. It hurts. It. Really. Fucking. Hurts. How do I make it stop?

    This will not be the last time your name lingers on my mind.

    And it lingers as I hold my phone wanting to ask you “Can you please explain me everythingWhat happened to our friendship?“. Though it seems to me that if you cared enough to answer any of that, you would’ve done so already… Right?

    Anyway.

    This is me pushing myself to heal faster because I deserve it. Everyone who got hurt by this unreasonable mess does.

    Including you. ♡

    Page 66 of  #thesunandherflowers, by Rupi Kaur. PREORDER: rupikaur.com/shop

     

     

    “Home” in different places. New routines. Attachment. Goodbyes.

    [[copied from my lil black notebook]]

    Came out to take some pictures of the sunset at the beach but forgot to bring the memory card.

    *le sigh*

    So, instead, I am writing, as my lil’ notebook requires no battery nor memory card.

    Something dawned on me as I was talking to Vanessa yesterday. I’m leaving in two weeks. At first, I came to spend 3 weeks, and then I’d be on my flight back to Brazil. I made little effort to meet new people – in fact, the people I know now are the same people I met when I came for a visit in May. What was the point, anyway? Goodbyes are so tough, and the more people I start caring about, the more it’d hurt when I left. I made no effort to create the feeling of home, or a routine – or anything you do when you’re going somewhere to stay.

    Yet, it happened.

    There are two pieces of furniture in my bedroom – a desk and a mattress. Does the mattress even count as furniture? Whatever. There’s a picture of my family by the window. All my work gear is on my desk, my clothes are neatly folded in my suitcase and I hang a dress or two on my camera’s tripod (I know I shouldn’t, but, hey, if it can handle my camera’s weight, it can handle a dress). I leave a kettle around because I consume way more tea and caffeine than I should. Things might get rearranged whenever there’s a heavier rain, as there’s a leak right on top of where my mattress normally stays. It’s fun, though, moving things around because of a stupid leak – it usually happens at 3am and I start laughing, half asleep and on my own, because, god, what a life. Shoes stay by the door as I don’t want any dirt from the streets coming into my room… Which is always clean and tied up, because, well, this is home right now.

    Despite coming here with a departure date set and with my mind already focusing on what was awaiting me in Brazil, it became home. Not only it became home, but I fell into this weird routine which, aside from working and studying, also includes seeing my friend Vanessa basically everyday…

    I really dislike having a routine and a place where I feel at home when I’m not staying somewhere for long, because I get attached. Attachment leads to having more things to let go of when it’s time to say goodbye… And goodbyes are so dreadful, aren’t they? I do acknowledge that they’re a part of life, though – heck, I grew up moving around, studying in 10 different schools, living in different cities; I’ve said so many goodbyes to so many friends from other cities and countries and even a parent… Doesn’t mean I have to like goodbyes, though, does it? 😛

    I’ve been here for 51 days.

    Kind of silly of me to think that I, organisation and logic freak, wouldn’t have made a home of wherever I was nor have developed some sort of routine after spending 51 days somewhere. Lol.

    So, anyways, everyday I wake up and make myself some tea. After having le tea, I exercise and stretch. Or stretch and exercise? Whatever. Then, I get to work – sitting on my desk and opening my laptop. At around half past 10am, my apetite shows its ugly face and I have some yoghurt or eat a fruit. During lunch time, I meet Vanessa and we eat, rant, do laundry or whatever. Then I go back to my room and work some more. Sleep is always a question mark as it depends on the deadlines, somedays I get 3h of sleep, somedays I even have the choice to indulge myself and sleep through 12h… If only my body were not weirded out by that and refused to sleep for more than 8h.

    I’m so grateful for all that. My little home, my little routine and seeing my friend everyday. I’m grateful for the quiet hours at night, during which I can write, edit my photos, sketch and think. As May Sarton once wrote, “I have time to think. That is the great, the greatest luxury. I have time to be.

    Honestly, I cannot remember if I’ve ever been this productive, work-wise.

    Not only that, but the work I’ve done here is the best I’ve done so far, because I’m not using half of my brain to worry about uni while working. Yays for summer break? There has been no need for annoying multi-tasking (I frigging hate multi-tasking, this whole millennial-doing-a-gazillion-things-at-once-to-show-productivity culture), no social media while I’m working (actually, there has barely been any social media lately, according to my friends). I have the luxury to focus entirely on my work before diving into a crazy study routine in Germany (7 hours of German lessons everyday!!helpmeplease!!).

    It’s getting super cold, dark, I can barely see what I’m scribbling and I’m not making much sense anymore.

    I guess I’m writing this from a state of bliss, because I feel so relaxed and grateful right now. Relaxed as I soak in the two weeks of ‘no-school’ freedom I have left, and grateful for having all that I’ve had in the past 51 days. Okay, add a bit of concern to that list – I am relaxed, grateful and a bit concerned. I mean… How do I give back to the people who’ve made the past 51 days what they have been? (Hi, Vanessa! If I could, I’d buy you all the cute lil’ shirts and pretty boots in the world. ♡)

    I suppose I don’t care about saying goodbye and letting go anymore… It just means I have people I care about and that I’ve been happy here, right?

    Time to go back to my room, I guess. Time to go home.

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