Yeah, so I had plans once. Plans to write and blog and tell you internetpeople everything, but then I had to say goodbye in Ghana, get on a plane (on December 21. I survived.) and then I was home. Finally. With the confused feeling of being happy/sad at the same time I forgot about everything that sometimes matters in my life. Like blogging.
Today’s exactly 22
days since I got home. I’ve been sleeping, eating, doing nothing, sleeping and
eating. And talking. I never stop talking.
But life moves on
and I need to too so BAM on Monday I’m leaving on a jetplane and then BAM I’ll
be visiting like ALL my family and then BAM going to Dublin to do some hardcore
babysitting for like 5 months. But, before I leave I figured I needed to give
you some closure about Ghana. Some final words. But because I can’t write about
it right now (TOO MANY FEELS) here’s something that I wrote on my way home. On the
21st of December. The day we didn’t die.
Here’s something
you don’t know about me. I write. Quite a lot. Writing helps me think and
process those thoughts into something substantial instead of just faint ideas
and useless information. I’ve got word documents full of little stories and
thoughts, of opinions and ow yeah FEELINGS. None of it is relevant, and none of
it will win me a Nobel literature price but that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t write
it.
So let me paint
you a picture. It is 03.00-ish. I’m on an airplane from Accra to Amsterdam. I’m
cold because of the air-condition and nauseous because of the too many
M&M’s. I’m sitting here, sandwiched between two big guys, writing on my
laptop. The lights are off. Michael Buble is singing in my ear. You’d think I’d
sleep right, since I’ve been awake since like 8 o’clock this morning and
today’s been a emotional day, but no. I can’t sleep. Each time I close my eyes
I see someone’s face. One of ‘’my’’ kids faces. They haunt me, determined to make
me burst out in tears in front of all these strangers. So even though my eyes
burn from the sleep, I can’t fall asleep. In many ways I want to cry, but that
won’t work either. I’m dried up for today. So instead I’ll sit here tapping
away, hoping that it’ll help.
I know this feeling
will pass. In a couple of weeks it won’t feel as foreign to me. My bed will be
my bed again and those kids, those wonderful kids, will be a memory. An
experience. A perfect experience, but long gone in the past. It is weird,
loving kids you don’t really know. Loving kids that are so different from you
and that live so far away. But I still do. I’ve never been in a relationship,
so I don’t know what breaking up is like, but somehow this feels like the
feelings they always describe in songs. It’s an ache in my heart. Right now it
is overpowering every other feeling, right now it is so fresh, but I know the
feeling will pass. Which is strangely comforting even though it should be a
horrible thought. I know I’ll struggle to remember their names in a couple of
months, that I won’t remember the way they said my name or the times they made
me laugh. But there is one thing that will never go away. The memory of that
time in Ghana, that time when I was happy and content, when I was emotional but
also incredibly cheery, when I truly cared and worked hard and laughed till my
stomach ached and cried in front of children and yelled at strangers In the
street and experienced the joy, yes joy, of volunteering. And that is something
that will never faint.
Here’s something
you don’t know about me. I write. I write when there is stuff in my head that
won’t go away. I write in a quiet airplane (except for that one SCREAMING baby)
even though I’m pretty sure the guy on my right is reading everything right
now. That’s nice for him, because then he’ll have met a celebrity when I win
the Nobel prize for literature.
