And Then We Were Moving Again

I was sort of kicked out of the apartment I rented for a year. I had to go by the end of June. It was very taugh. I felt like I fell back to where I started a year ago. Looking for a place was not my favorite program. I really hated it. Find an apartment with a landlord and flatmates who are open-minded, progressive, kind, trustworthy and decent. Almost impossible. 

In head, I got back to the station in my life where I packed my suitcase and left home. I will never forget that day. I grew up in a villange and it was very isolated. Deprivation and poverty were my friends. The only thing I loved about the house I grew up in was the big garden we had. It was enormous. In the big city, with flats and concrete jungles, it is almost impossible to have a huge green area with a house for an affordable price. 

I started looking for a new place and I started processing it. I was reading my old diaries and ended up at my cousins I grew up with. We had our trials and tribulations, ups and downs and so but the way life seperated us was something I never really dig into to digest. And I had to. So I started writing and writing, crying and crying almost every night for the things we never had, the things I lost and the things I will never encounter again (or at all). This is how “And Then We Were Moving Again” was born. 

I think that I am over that era of my life. It is just so sad to see how the people I grew up with ended. All of them are extremely unhappy with or without a relationship. They had dreams and high ambitions. I have absolutely no idea what could have happened in their life that they gave in. That they stopped chasing their dreams. That they stopped dreaming. 

I wish I cold go back but I can’t. Maybe it is for the best. I had to go alone as always. They had to go alone as always. And that is okay.