Sometimes it feels as if my life was so unimportant it doesn’t even deserve a description of a whole sentence. At other times it is as if thousands of words could not even describe a single moment.
For the last five and a half years I have been on a journey that was difficult more often than it was easy or enjoyable. I have been trying to figure out who I am, what I want to do, and who I want to be a part of my life. To be honest, I still haven’t found a satisfying answer yet, but I’m becoming aware that I might never find the answer. I’m not the person I was when I started this journey, and I won’t be the same person when this journey ends and another begins.
I’m happy though with the person I currently am, I feel quite at ease. I see part of the journey that lies in front of me, and I have come to terms with the past – well, more or less. But I have realised I wouldn’t be the person I am if I had made different choices. Yes, there are decisions I will perhaps regret my whole life, but I have no influence on them anymore. The universe has a strange kind of humor, because it are these decisions of all that made me the one I am today. I would certainly not be writing poems and prose all day long if I had made different choices – not that this would have been a great loss for the literary heritage. Yet, writing has become an essential part of my nature, which certainly was reinforced by this blog. I might be a little crazy, but for the last month or so, I’ve often carried a pen and a piece of paper with me.
My journey will certainly lead me into a whole different direction than I’m expecting, just as it did during the last years, but I will carry a small bit of hope and the knowledge that there are friends I can count on with me wherever it takes me.