A beautiful transition
First of March hits like a stone thrown at my pretty glasshouse.
It doesn’t brake or shatter my world completely, it just creates a little crack through which I can start to see the long flight home, the bare streets of Stockholm, the silent train ride home.
I have been gone seven months and admittingly, I’ve gotten used to this life. My feet have gotten used to flip flops and soft sand. My liver to late nights and coctails.
The real world awaits me two weeks from now with colder temperatures and undoubtely more expensive things.
But don’t get me wrong. I am looking forward to going home. Even starting working again feels exciting and I can’t wait to get back to the gym. Get some routine and all of that.
(Oh the things you miss when you’re away)
This is the beginning of the end of my trip.
The time when I start reflecting on what has been and what’s to come. If you have followed me through the years, you will know what I’m talking about.
I don’t have any photos from the first month in Cape Town with its Christmas and New Years parties and catch-ups with old friends. I lost everything when my camera and usb-stick got stolen. But its all very clear to me, on the inside.
Like the features of my new found friend, and the precious moments the two of us have shared.
My old friend Malin arrived like a hopeful letter from home, a package of childhood memories, silly jokes, girly conversations and lots of laughter, and she is staying here for the remaining of my trip.
What a beautiful transition.