The memories, triggered by the smell of a plant, the sight of a canal house facade, or the the soft sunrays on my skin appear as fast as lighting and can instantly bring the taste of vinegar or honey to my mouth. With the familiar, there is no way to take the back seat. The intimicy can be confronting or soothing, but the immediacy and closeness won't allow mental distancing. It's all here, it's up up to me to find a way to deal with it.Within a week or two I've found my feet to the extreme: a new house, cell phone plan, bike wheel and a runny nose. My body is here, yet the mind still wanders and wonders. My mother sometimes reassures me that this feeling is caused by travelling per airplane: my understanding is travellign back by bus, and is probably held up somewhere between Uganda and Sudan.
Facebook seems my sole connection to the realm that was my home for more than a year, and I stare long hours at the status reports of friends, their messages and their photos. Although i would like to see it differently, filtered by the PC they cannot not compete in colour and richness with the everyday events that unfold around me, as simple as the sound a free cup of coffee from the machine at my bank makes, or the yelling of a kid in the street to her parents at the second floor that she wants to take her bike out for a ride.
Confined to my thesis work, I can decide when to face the music and when to withdraw, but with a big window facing West it is impossible to ignore the sunset. I was told that the huge red ball was a symbol for the African continent, but he's certainly here today and in combination with those famous Dutch clouds that have been a popular subject since the 17th century, I can't help but to marvel at the splendour of the sights on offer in the now... and in the here.
