The moment I walked into my bedroom (July 14th) I felt the urge to change my posters and drawings. I wonder why. I just got back from a ten day holiday and expected to feel empty, in line with the closed-loop-theory. I do feel a bit empty. The white and yellow, the last caused by the setting sun, are so familiair. The colours in my room; the books in all sorts of colours, my light blue curtains, my yellow and pink lip balm and the lay-out of my room; the way my desk and my bed and book shelves and garderobe are placed… It reminds me of my room, my room, but somehow I don’t like being back.
Am I too much addicted to the Alps already? Or does my familiair room remind me too much of all those days I have spent studying, crying, thinking too much about things I do not want to think about (anymore) while trying to fall asleep? Did my room lost its inspiration to me? Or is my room just one link in a whole chain of (bad) associations? A different environment makes up the mind, could provide new inspiration, new ideas, but somehow my mind still wanders in the Alps, refusing to get back to reality.
I felt home in the Alps, though I do not know anything about life in the Alps, how to handle heavy snow fall, how to do groceries, how to socialize (would I like to live in a big city with many facilities like I am used to or settle in a small, religious town with one way through?) Don’t I wish for a life of traveling and seeing nature and culture to have new inspiration and write, write!, because home is were I feel at ease, home is where I write, not by means a chosen phyiscal place but any place I feel comfortable enough to let my mind wander. “At home” where my room is, uneasyness is caused by relevant stress, part of daily life, killing the easyness and locking up inspiration.
One fine holiday, one more to go. And what is left is a life of choices. Countless choices, which hopefully lead me down to the placeless, timeless home I keep looking for.