People in between

I belong to the people in between. I feel constant sadness inside, touched by the illogical things that surround me. You see, I am the one who believes that there is a choice. One can choose which life-paths they’ll take. However, if you are born in the part of the world I come from, senses show that could be barely logical way of reasoning. Sometimes I wonder where all that optimism flowing inside me comes from. The willingness to change and to help. To struggle. Yeah, that’s the right word.

Living between worlds does not give you an easy way. I get to travel a lot. Some would say I have an urge to travel. Escape from the self. I would say I have a curious mind, with an urge to travel. I learn about the life of people in other countries. I get inspired by them, by what I see, eat, hear, find out. This also brings addiction to constant food for thought. Somehow the experience gets clenched onto my body and soul. It wouldn’t let go ever. That’s how I bring it back where I live. I wouldn’t call it home. I feel home is more places than just the country I had been raised in. It’s anywhere you feel like it.

It’s never easy bringing this stuff back. It makes you want to change things. You see how things could be much better, and how it’s already much better somewhere else. More culture, greener way of thinking, more logical and safe. You would want to go back, and then again after a while try something new you haven’t tried before. And it’s repetitive, a circular form, a never ending loop. I would probably be the first one to say – fine, let’s do that! But you can’t. There are rules, visas, insurances, lack of funding, family…all those ties you’ve got prenatally, a sort of umbilical cord.

I’ve got some friends for whom I know feel the same. A home in LA and another across the ocean. When you are there, you’d like to be here, and vice-versa. There’s a pertinent feeling that you are missing some part of your life. Or when you live somewhere other than your own country with a constant tag of an unaccustomed stranger above your head. You glow in a different pattern; you cannot be assimilated no matter what you did. But then again, the situation is the same when you’re finally in your mother country. It just feels different. You tell stories about the other home, referring to it with a tad of nostalgia.

Sometimes I have a need to apologise for other people’s behaviour. As if their nationality pattern would influence my tag too. I realise how some are not educated or got used to behave in an expected and logical manner. I see that I cannot influence that, and it hurts at the surface. Except that I opt to shake it off with an attempt of reconciliation, but not yet that perilous indifference.

 In the end, it is so important to get it over, to feel home beneath your skin. That’s the right cure. And not to judge people, especially not based on the passports they got.

When I meet people, I can feel that I am a part of everyone’s soul. I can recognize a piece of me in everyone. It comforts me and frightens me both. I try to find what’s best and take it with me, no matter where I am. When the disappointment and disgust crawl under my skin again, I run. Away from the past. I can feel time slowly slipping away. I can see images of future. The way I think it should look like. I am trying to catch up with the future moment. To change it with every atom of my flesh. 

51 31 0 N, 7 28 0 E - 45 15 0 N, 19 51 0 E

03012013

listen to: lana del rey. ride