Ich bin Leben, das leben will, inmitten von Leben, das leben will.

Albert Schweitzer

Freitag, 21. Februar 2014

On the run

You are alone at your flat. You've just changed some furniture in your room. You feel like home, finally. Sometimes. Mostly it's chaotic. But it's okay. It's far away from perfect or how you wish it to be. But... what do you wish? Is there something in your head called 'home'? Or ist it just an illusion? Why ist it so important to humans to feel like being home? And what is wrong with all this nomades, backpackers, employees on all their business trips? Most of us are searching. For something. For somebody. Sometimes it seems like we don't wanna find something at all.
You are just back 'home' since few months, but you already plan to start the next trip. UK, Australia, somewhere in Asia or South America? Does it matter? Not really. The most important is: just be on the road. Never arrive. Why? 'Cause you don't know where you want to arrive. And what to expect.
When people ask, you just say something like it is fun and exciting to meet new people and learn more about foreign countries on your own, not just from google maps. But inside of you, it is much more. It is like a drug. You go on a 'trip'. Yes. It's actually the same. You flee from everything what's going wrong or just does not happen. You flee from yourself.
But on the otherside you try to make it as wonderful as possible at your place. You have so many wishes and ideas. And you try to make them real. Sometimes it really works. Sometimes it feels like family. And than you remember your other family. What went wrong? When did it went wrong? Why?
Always (I really mean always) when you feel free and happy, something not comfortable happens in your life. It's just like in this one cartoon, when 'life' gives you a cookie and just few seconds later it kicks you in your knees and takes the cookie away. Thaaaank you, f***ing bitch.
So you are not happy, when something positive happens. You start to fear 'good', just before it happens. Welcome to real life, princess.
Than you remember. The first twenty years were... well... not that exciting up to disgusting. All because people who you were trusting the most didn't care. Well, they cared about that you had enough to eat and warm stuff in winter. And sometimes also other nice things (remember all your dolls..). But nobody ever cared about your emotional inner world. Not after your lovely granny died or the premeditated fire on the floor of your house or sexual harassment by a parents' colleague when you were four or five. Or when they argued and threatened each other with the knife. Because your dad was drunk. As so often. And you were crying. They knew it's wrong what happened, but never asked you, how you feel. You still feel guilty. And want to flee. From yourself.
And yes. You still try to beliefe. That you just have to stand up one more time than this bitch can kick you. And sometimes you know, that you will win (of course, someday you're dead... oookay...)

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