It's a thunderstorm outside. The rain seems to pour without mercy. The lightning breaks the darkness with a loud grumble. I am inside, calmly sipping my chilled wine. Maybe I am calm because a thunderstorm is breaking havoc in my too. Do people who are lucky enough to face the uncertainty of opening a new chapter face the same thing?

I am coming home. After three years of a certain study period, I am coming home. Why? That it a question I am yet to know the answer. I guess the hardest thing about living abroad is that flight back from home. Where the realization that your family is getting older without you grips your heart like a constrictor killing its prey.

I do not have anything waiting for me after I hand in my thesis this month. The job I wanted and worked hard for to continue my study did not happen. It started the thunderstorm, not because of not getting it but the questions it raised within me on where I would like my life to bring me.

When I was 5, a clown at a friend's birthday party asked me what I want to be when I grew up. I said I wanted to be a boss, like my dad. My dad could have never been prouder, boasting to everyone he knew how I wanted to be a boss. Another year later I wanted to be a president. Then a lawyer. A photographer. A war-journalist. A writer. A designer. An economist.

My study intrigues me. To help things out I found out soon enough that I am good at it. It developed me, challenged me and for that I am grateful for. But not getting that job made me realize of these passions I turned away from for the fear of not being good enough. The risks. The uncertainties.

I did not get the job I wanted. I do not know what I will do.

I enrolled myself to a summer French course, 4hrs a day from 9am for two weeks. I am taking the test tomorrow.

I am flying home in August, travelling first to Borneo and then back to Jakarta for the foreseeable future.

And I could not be happier.

Today started like any other day. Breakfast was enjoyed, clothes worn, things put in the bag. But bike would not start - the wheels could not roll. It was like a bird who hurt its wings, deprived of the simple pleasure of normality from flying. Someone had kicked the backwheel, and as the force pushed it the front wheel held firm to its post and was simultaneously bent.

After class, Bear helped me to bring my bike to the bikeshop. He examined the tires and predicted grimly. We tried nonetheless. Throughout the journey the wheels made the most heartbreakingly soft sound. It made me really worried. It was as if it was dying, lying there on its deathbed in silent suffering.

The verdict was final - Bikeguy confirmed Bear's belief. It will be too costly to repair - and even he advised against it. "It's not worth it," he assured us.

Bear looked at me sincerely and asked whether we should take it home and call someone to bring it to the bikegarbage, or should we release it into the wild unlocked and let it be stolen.

I swallowed hard. I would prefer to bring it home, yet the looming thought of it being shoven into a cage filled with broken bikes, waiting to be destroyed prevents me from deciding for it. If it would be left unlocked, some junkie will take it home, probably fix it and sell it to another student, giving it some more years.

The irony that I too had bought it from a junkie for 50bucks.

Bear stripped the flower bag off the back saddle, and chose a quiet neighborhood and unlocked it. I stood further away, watching Bear watch me and pat it goodbye. My eyes felt warm. I realized how heart broken I was seeing this bike which had been with me for almost 3 years, for as long as I have been living here in NL.

:(

I guess that is life - you get dependent on something, and the next thing you know randomly a stranger just comes along and kick it beyond repair.