Today there stands pictures on postcards of the Eiffel Tower, la Baie des Anges in Nice, Hobbitmountain, falling leaves, a brewing cup of coffee that people have sent me over the short 4 months I have spent here in France. The realization that I am leaving this Friday dawns closer and closer. The acknowlegment that soon it is time to take them off, to neatly find them a safe place in my overcrowded suitcase and to bring them home.
I begin to wonder what I mean with home when I write of home.
In my Geopolitics class here we came across the concept of a torn country. A country that is divided in its identity. A bridge that connects two lands. A bridge is a physical creation that belongs to none. It got me thinking. My Serbian professor is one of the people whom I have met during my exchange that I honestly am glad to have met. He makes me think, sometimes inconviniently because I tend to think too much, but he makes me think.
Last weekend I had the chance to catch up with a friend of mine. We talked of what others who stayed in Rotterdam are doing, how they are and what they are involved in. It felt strange to realize that life goes on without you, that they continue on living and pursuing their academic dreams while you are gone. In a way it made you feel left, in another grateful for having the freedom to book a ticket, pick up your bags and travel.
Travel, perhaps that is what I have been doing most of my exchange here. The places I have never been, the people I met for the briefest period of time yet made me smile for the chance rendez-vous. It's funny meeting people during your travel because you know there is an expiration date. Sometimes I find myself opening more to strangers than people I know, and why I do not understand as well. Perhaps it's the idea of leaving once that train leaves, that you dont attatch yourself to them. It's like talking to the stars at night. The difference is that when you finally say goodbye their story is now a part of you.
Little by little, I realize how they helped me learn along the way. I began to think of them who shared their stories along the way with me. A webdesigner who opened his flat, who wants to make someone happier and made us feel home in Paris.
An architect, Jonathan, who showed me how big ones heart can be to a stranger; how beautiful one can be when one is in one's element talking about buildings in a monastery outside Bordeaux.
A gay guy who got me coffee in the busstation in Valencia. 2 hours wait for the bus to Madrid seemed to fly as we talked about places we love, boys we fancy. Right before I got on my bus he asked for my name and I for his. I unfortunately forgot it, but never the smiles.
A former Russian professor, Umberto, who stood infront of me in the queue when my flight got cancelled in Rome. Who prefers Italian cheese and food to French. Who thinks change is not synonimous to being worse, so that one should not be sad of it. Change is just different, change is inevitable.
A German neighbour, Christian, who made me realize the meaning of the word character.
A nihilist who would ask first and foremost whether someone who just crashed into him is alright before other emotions take hold. Who called me to make sure I did not get raped by hairy Italians. Who makes great Ratatoille.
A girl who likes eggs, eats as much as I do, loves wine and cheese as dearly, who always know how to make me smile and who after 4 months became a friend. I dont know what I would do without you, ho.
As I think of them, the more grateful I became for their stories. The chance to have met them and left a little bit different everytime, no matter how brief a moment we had. Thank you. Thank you for sharing your stories, your pearls and allowing me to keep it safe in my heart.
I think I am ready to go back.
