Two months have passed, two months filled with emotion, despair and exciting new beginnings.
The cold,
windy Christmas and the New Year celebrations were as great as we could expect
of a person who was feeling lost and alone in a new home, with a new future
that seemed more dark than optimistic. But then something happened. As the
clock showed 0:00 and the date changed from 31 to 1, as I was drinking my way
to sleep and contemplating over my shitty year, I took a decision, a New Year
resolution, as we so commonly call it. I
decided to stop giving a shit, which is, in my case, the most difficult thing
to do. I care too much about too many things, I consume myself over everything and
everybody and then I fall into a self-pity black hole while eating my thoughts
away and blaming myself for everything that goes wrong with this world. I started
feeling ugly on the inside and outside and I couldn’t chase away this sickening
feeling of a perpetual incompetence. And then I stopped. This sudden
realization came over me as I wondered who would do the same thing for me. Who would be eating his brains out thinking about my well-being? Well, besides my mum, bless her, most probably
nobody else. So why do I have to pressure myself into being this perfect, kind and
over-considerate person with everybody around me when obviously this isn’t
doing any good for me? Because the world doesn’t respond the same way, not even
close to the expectations I have of it. So, I decided to stop. I decided to be
selfish for once in my life and to put myself first. And what do you think it happened?
It really worked! I could sleep better, without the night-terrors; I was
feeling pretty again, even with some extra-kilos and, the most impressive
change of all, I started feeling optimistic about what the future might have
reserved for me.
I still
haven’t found my ideal job or my handsome prince-charming, but I landed a
pretty cool editorial internship that I just love, where I finally feel
appreciated for what I do. And I
constantly have this voice in the back of my head that tells me that all I have
to do is be patient and things will reveal themselves before my eyes just like I deserve
them. I might just be crazy but for now it works, for now that voice is doing a
brilliant job in helping me wake up in the morning.
And I often think about
Belgium, about the people I left behind and how much I miss them every day, but
then I remember why I didn’t stay. I miss the coffee and the cheap cigarettes;
I miss my dog and walking down the streets. And I miss Romania, so much. I
think the missing part will never go away and, even if I wanted to, it’s there
to remind me who I am and where I truly belong.
P.S.
Fun fact: English houses don’t have doorbells.
