Home sweat home
Soon I will return to the land of windmills, plans made weeks in advance and perpetual complaining. Back to things I appreciate, back to things I will never understand.
I’m coming home to not having a home. My main worry. No place to live and narrow, bureaucratic hoops to jump through. Explaining the unexplainable to strangers (how an incapacitated man was able to travel). Hoping their judgment will be favourable. Guilty until proven innocent.
How soft or hard the landing shall be, will be a surprise. Looking around me I see no pillows nor parachutes in my vicinity. But who else is there to blame than that serene face staring back at me in the mirror?
There are too many opioids and benzodiazepines swimming laps in my bloodstream to feel worried on a daily basis, I am too big of a sinner to expect a saviour, I have too much life experience to expect a last minute helping hand and I am too aware of my own responsibility to feel self pity. Choices made, consequences to carry - such is life.
At least the same man is returning a different person.
I gathered friendships, lost acquaintances, regained my will to live and saw my health decline further. I learnt that hedonism leads to emptiness and now understand that being by yourself is to be preferred over surrounding yourself with friends that make you feel alone.
Furthermore, I’ve come to terms with the majority of people tending to forget the amount of medication I take to make it through the day. It helps me to reciprocate that indifference when those same self proclaimed sages try to give me life advice.
And lastly, I’ve become a spoiled westerner. I still enjoy nature’s finest and certain architecture, but don’t really care. I’ve come to find that company trumps surroundings and that sharing is divine.
Enough philosophical lingering. I’ll be on my way soon. On route to change my situation and to succeed. Money isn’t the main goal, but it sure is a big part of it. The bottom of western society and I are way too familiar with each other, and by god, am I done with that.
It is not much that I need to start with. I need a peaceful, quiet space to live, a lack of noisy neighbours and a comfortable bed - the foundation to strive for greatness.
Because, quite frankly, I refuse to conform to this quality of life and require more comfort to battle this cerebral behemoth eating away at me.
So, here I sit. A head full of cancerous pain, a pocket full of pain killers, a heart full of scars, a mind full of good will and my memory’s gallery full of nostalgic art.
To those unbothered: “Adiós.” To those that care: “Thank you.”
A rough ride coming up, a tricky situation. Fortunately I’m determined to the point of delusion.
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I wrote a novel! It’s available on: https://www.amazon.com/Vic-Koopmans-ebook/dp/B0B6TC4WX9/ref=mp_s_a_1_1?crid=GWSYPFYSYYSU&keywords=vic+koopmans+head+first&qid=1658281167&sprefix=vic+koopmans+headfirst%2Caps%2C127&sr=8