About nostalgia and adventure


When I packed my things and boarded that plane to Berlin 6 years ago, I couldn't imagine I would never be back. Not completely, at least.

Those who lived all their lives in the same place, shared their life with the same person, talked always the same language and had, all in all, a predictable life, will not understand what I talk about. They will think  'Ah, come on, you're exaggerating'. But truth is, after leaving what I called home for 21 years, I just couldn't come back. And this is not because I didn't want to, I actually came back home after a year abroad but it just wasn't the same. I would wander the streets for months, heavy hearted, feeling like something was missing. I was in the constant search of that something I could not find on the bars, on the parks, on the crowded streets.

After a year, I made the decision of returning back to Germany, accompained only by a bag full of clothes and my two favourite books. My mum told proudly to others, that her daughter was a brave young girl who went looking for a better future, but actually I was just looking for something I couldn't really identify.

I guess that's why people travel. I mean, not the holiday kind of people who go to some paradise beach, post a couple of pictures of their feet on Instagram and come back being exactly the same person who left  (those I truly pitty). But those who have an adventurous heart, a curious mind full of questions and notebooks full of memories and notes. Those itchy feet, can't just stand always in the same corner of Earth, marry, have children, a job and die. They search for experiences that fill up the empty spaces of their existence, until these form part of their own personality and self, and at some point, returning back home is no longer an option. When I'm in Germany I'm constantly missing my family, the weather and food of Spain, but the moment I arrive to Spain I'm missing my life in Germany. I feel like I'm suspended on the air between these two places and all the places in between I sometime called home too, the people, the landscapes, the store of the corner, the post office, the shorter way to my friend's place. The breaking up with the places and the people, the leaving and coming back, realising life goes on there without you as well gives you this bitter feeling. Emil Cioran wrote, "The only important events of a life are breakups. These are also the last thing erased from our memory". And after the break up, comes the nostalgia.

The word Nostalgia comes from the greek Nostos, wich comes from Nesthai (coming back home) and algos (suffering, pain). Nostalgia could then be defined as the pain that comes from the unfulfilled wish of coming back home. Nostalgia for the first love, nostalgia of the youth and the years that are gone.

Anyhow, it hurts.

Exile, immigrating its not a path full with rainbows and roses. You are alone, building your life up from zero, finding a job, dealing with buerocracy, wondering, missing and adapting. I look down to my tired, wore out shoes after I've been wandering places and people's lives and many times I felt I coulnd't do it anymore, I was too tired of looking for a place to feel home.

Then somehow I found Paul and it felt like arriving home after a long, long journey, taking off your shoes and bra and laying on the couch with a cold beer. I have too a nice familiar feeling with some people I met on the way, who are now great friends and are all around the globe wearing out their shoes, living adventures, never settling down, building their homes on the way.

If I look back, I feel overwhelmed by how my life turned out to be, how I am now. Everything changed, nothing is the same, nothing is predictable. Who I am now is a mix of all those places, people, tastes, languages and experiences of the world I've met. And I wouldn't change that for anything.  In fact, I need to continue exploring since I discovered life in constant movement, like the sea, like a river. Home is wherever I am in each moment - with the people I Iove in my heart.


A bit of my nostalgia: my mother, my brother and me in a city we used to live

You Might Also Like


Popular Posts

Like us on Facebook