The problem with me
Being back in Holland, I figured it out. Although this might not be the first time I did, I did figure it out. My problem is that I want to live 10 lives. Well, maybe not 10, but 100. Ehm, maybe not 100, but many more.
I think I’ve accepted life as temporary. I know I’ve had to accept youth is temporary. Yes, 31 is not old, at least to most ‘modern’ people in the world, but it’s not 26, let alone 21, or even younger. But if life is temporary, our opportunities aren’t limitless and our possibilities not endless.
I won’t be able to do at 60 what I’m able to do now, and even now, I can’t do what I could 10 years ago. Hell, last week’s party and alcohol proved that yet again. I can only do as much as possible in the time I am given (nice and poetic, innit?).
So I go to Mongolia, I go to Zimbabwe, I go to Afghanistan, I hope to go to Iran. Because I can, but because I want to. Because if I wouldn’t, I’d miss out, and going would mean I am able to get a glimpse of more lives, not just my own, the only one I would be enjoying if I would stay at home.
I NEED to see, because I need to KNOW. What are these other lives I’m not living. What am I NOT experiencing?
I can not live 10 lives, let alone 100. Some people try to live two, and don’t even manage. At least I try to SEE all these lives. It is like getting a small glimpse of what is out there, the problems people face, the joys people have, the lives that are lived. Glimpses, fractions are almost nothing, but slightly more than nothing.
Being back home in Delft, I’m happy to see my family again, to chill with my girlfriend. But at the same time I’m also already missing Kabul: The weather, the people, the streets and the mountains.