Sleepless in Sri Lanka

In a hotel room in Colombo, I escape the world for a while. 

So much has changed, I need to reassure myself.

I am here. I am alive.

The last few weeks in Oslo were some of the most stressful of my life. While still smiling and serving at work, my home was falling a part. I had broken up with my boyfriend but we were still sharing the same roof, although most of the time he was out with his mates and some nights he chose not to come home.

We were hurting and healing, trying to make sense of our feelings, torn between the sadness of leaving and the anticipation of going out in the world.

Moving was a mess and just as I had been the one to set up the home, I was the one to take it down. To the very last day I was running around selling, storing and returning things, my mind on the tasks in front of me, not on the journey that lay ahead.

He left for the Seychelles on Friday and my flight to Sri Lanka was Saturday.

It has taken me up until now, at 2 a.m Monday morning, alone in a simple hotel room in Colombo to close that door behind me and open up my heart to this truth:

I am not lost. I am on my way.