Home and away

Studying abroad is some busy business, let me tell you that. Since my last post I have been busy visiting cities, making tests, and being ill. The travels were really good, it’s always nice to visit places that are very different from your own city. I’ve been to the sea-side at Easter Break, and in Łódź. That last one has so many nice restaurants and cafes, it’s really a young city, as we say! Also, we went to a Balkan party there, and god, what a party…! It’s been a while since I’ve had such a lovely party. They really played Balkan music, all night long, and everyone was dancing, and it was so nice. I had the greatest time, so great that I had muscle ache the next day because of dancing so much. But it was worth it! Just perfect.

The only downside to the travels was that it was often quite cold… Together with the busy week of an exam and three tests and tiredness, it caused me to pay the price – I fell ill. The last time this happened, I was 15, so I didn’t really expect it anymore! Yesterday I almost didn’t leave my bed, because I couldn’t stay upright, or even sit up, for longer than 5 minutes without falling down again. Such joy… But today things are already way better, luckily. I don’t have my voice back completely, but hey, at least I can walk around again!

Also, if that is the price I have to pay for that Balkan party, than I’m willing to pay.

Next to that it gives you a new look on your priorities. Now I’m so happy that I can look down without my head aching, I’m happy that I can walk around without falling, and that I don’t feel knives in my head the entire time anymore. Life is so pretty now!

As for the guy from this post, well, it seems that I’m getting good at cleaning the mess I’ve made. Of course the situation is somewhat more complicated than I told you, but last week I decided that the best way to get an answer is to ask for it. So I sent him a text asking why I didn’t hear anything from him anymore. (Then I shut down my phone in a flash of nervosity. Then I realised how stupid it was, turned it back on and put it in the kitchen so I wouldn’t hear the sound of a text message coming in.) He gave some lame excuse about thinking I was home for the holidays (I wasn’t of course) and something about being drunk. I didn’t fully get it, so I asked what he meant by that. Maybe that sounded a bit aggressive, because he texted back that we will meet some day and then he would explain it.

Eh, okay. I’m not convinced this will actually happen, for some reason (guess which one). At least I tried, I have proven to be the more adult one by trying to have a normal, rational conversation. If he had told me straight away what the real reason was, even if it would have been that he wasn’t really interested in me, then I would just have understood it. But oh well, I can’t be bothered with it anymore. I might be heading towards more adventures, so this one is ready to be the past.

As for the ‘I thought you’d be home during the holidays’, I must say there’s a strange tendency to think that here! No one asked me what I was doing during Easter break. They always asked if I was going home during Easter break. Errm no, I have only been here for two and a half months now, why would I go home already? I didn’t go studying abroad just to run home as soon as I have the chance. I surely miss some people and some things about Belgium, but despite that I feel like this is my home now. This is my town. I noticed how true that was when I was walking around in the cities I visited. I started saying things like ‘in my city it’s like this or that’, or ‘oh, we have the same thing over at us!’. Next week , my parents will visit me, and I already look forward to showing them around here, because I’m proud of my city, I think it’s pretty and full of good things. We have a lovely old town and a lovely big park right in the centre of the city. It’s just a good place to live, and I can’t wait to show them around in my new world here. This is my home. I feel it every time I arrive at the train station again. This is what I know best and this is what returning home feels like. I will surely be happy to be back in Belgium and to see my friends again and to go to a real good Belgian cafe again, but until then you can leave me here!

Growing soft

By now everyone reading my blog probably figured out that I care a whole lot about my looks. I can find such happiness in shoes or bags or sweaters even, I never leave the house without mascara, or without earrings. That’s so typically me. It’s inherent. I want people to see the best part of me, the prettiest part. You just never know who’ll you run into after all.

Via 9gag.

Via 9gag.

But.

There’s a but.

When I share a house with you, you will get to see a different side of me. The side that doesn’t always wear earrings or mascara, the side that wears pyjamas. Shock! Horror! You see, sometimes I’m equally lazy and vain. When I get up in the morning and I need something from the fridge, well, I’ll just check to see if my face looks okay, but I’m not going to change my clothes. First things first. It’s as simple as that.
But it’s not just during the morning, when I’m too apathetic to care. When I know I will be home the entire day and I just have to study, I always put on something comfortable. After all I’m a dancer and I have troubles sitting in a normal way without moving, walking around, occasionally stretching and so on. You get the picture. I need my possibility to move in any direction, so I need clothes who can handle that urge for freedom.

And now my mother, who has the ability to buy the most amazing things for me, bought me pyjamas. But not just pyjamas. A most comfortable, cute pair of trousers, a T-shirt with a drawing of a cat, soft white things that are a cross between socks and slippers, and a fleece vest – fleece inside and out. It’s the softest thing ever, I swear. So I’ve kind of come to the point where I don’t want to change clothes anymore. I could live in that vest and be happy. Satisfaction is fleece. It’s like wearing a teddy bear.

So yeah, everyone sharing the house with me, ten other people who were strangers up until the point I moved in, gets to see me wearing pyjamas and a fleece vest. I might not look sexy, I might not look dazzling, but dammit, there is no reason to wear anything else when I’m at home. I will do the effort of picking a fitting T-shirt to go with it, but that’s the end. You will never ever see me wearing such things once I left home, but once there – it’s all comfy and soft.

What do you like to wear at home? Do you like fleece vests?

Who’s that girl living here?

Who’s that girl who lived here? Who’s that girl who bought those books and read them – over and over? Much like the magazines? They’re piled up in a corner of the room. Does she still read them? And there. Who’s the girl who collected those things? The gems (woaw, pretty) and the little stuff, figurines, stones, shells. Who’s that person with the pink curtains and that bed? Let alone that writing desk? Did she write these diaries and poems? Truly?

What kind of person is that?

And those CD’s, those clothes, even the wall paper. What am I supposed to think when I see this? Is this really representative for her character? Imagine the person living here. With a family. Being at ease in this place, being herself here. Knowing this room all too well and liking everything in it. The jewels she’s much attached to. Carefully chosen and bought, often worn. The pictures on the wall. They’re nice, yes. I admit that. The sheets on the bed. Just everything. I walk around here and wonder who she is. What she thinks. Would I like her?

I open the door, the door she has to know so very well. I walk down stairs. The carpet she’s seen since she were born and came to live here. The steps. The lamps. I open the door to the kitchen, something she must have done a thousand times already. Her family is seated there. One empty chair.

And I walk straight to it, going the same way since ever, and sit down on that chair.  I sit there, as always, eat together with my family, looking outside to the sight I’ve always seen.

And I wonder how much I’ve changed in such a short period of time…