30 Hours
I have found there to be two types of people:
The go getters; the ones who have this inept ability to get everything they ever aspire for and then the sideliners; the people watching on to the others in envy. I was always the sideliner. I could never make any decision whether it be which university to go to, what meal to eat, what clothes to wear, the basics. I struggled with the envy forcing me to look onto the people around me living their lives full throttle.
30 hours ago I was sat on the floor, about to change everything. Fast forward 3 hours ago and everything changed. I am no longer the sideliner. Here I am, thousands of kilometers from home, living out my dreams. One oversized backpack of clothes, one laptop, one notebook and a whole lot to write about.
People have always asked me what I like to write about, mostly I say self-reflection, other times I flutter around the subject as if there is so much prejudice to which genre a writer fits into. In the end, we're all just telling stories, trying to appease the truths and exacerbate the lies to create a whirlwind of emotions that never seem that real before they were created. Today I want to write about the truths, without creating a lie.
Fast forward two hours ago; to a sidewalk made from uneven bricks and overgrowing moss, coffee in one hand, the other pulling a thick cardigan across goosebumped skin, eyes staring up at all of the buildings. Homes, offices, hotels; these places all filled with memories and histories and bricks older than grandparents. The smoke coming from chimneys, the crisp breezes coming from alley ways, the romantics sitting outside the coffee shops with their cigarettes and smiles, the daisies smaller than coins in the grass.
It takes patience to notice everything, to feel a sense of inspiration from moss growing from the gaps between bricks. It takes emotion to see the love in the romantics eyes and it takes courage to let the busy Londoners walk around you to take everything in. Life gets so busy we forget to appreciate the places we live. I don't mean our flats with our beds and couches and food, I mean our cities, our countries, our planet.
Fast forward to the moment. The moment right now where I reflect on 30 hours of transit, stress sweating, the 90 pound cab ride, and not knowing how to turn the hot water on. This moment I sit in this hostel, in this fluorescent greeny-yellowey lounge room, writing these words, I know that I will be okay. I will be okay all the way over here because I have an appreciation to see things as they are, nothing more, and to take something from that. Even just moss growing in the cracks.
Always,
e.m
