March 26th 2019
Only a week.
As I sit in this roof, I think: this is my last full moon here. There’s been times when I looked at moon from this same spot and told myself there are only x days left, you can do it. Today I cry. Today I don’t want to go.
I want to sleep here, get eaten by mosquitos, share my space with rats and bats. I desperately want to make myself uncomfortable so it’ll be easier to leave.
At this point though, it won’t happen because the only thing that can make feel uncomfortable is the thought of moving forward. The thought of all the things and people I will leave behind.
I have exactly 7 days in this city I now call home. There have been ups and downs, moments I was really happy, moments I was really sad, moments I was uncertain about everything, moments I was so sure of everything that nothing or no one could convince me otherwise.
Today I look at the mosque on my right feeling the warm breeze in my face, listening to the horns of cars still navigating the city and I feel suffocated. Not by warmth or the noise but by knowing that in exactly 7 days I will be somewhere, with different people, living a different reality; leaving a part of me here. By here I mean this roof, this city, this state, this country, this culture that deep down has always been a little bit mine but only now do I realise its preciousness.
P.S : This is a really bad picture but that is how I see the moon from here. Right on top of me, really bright, giving me enough light to write on my diary and be grateful for the space and place I find myself in.
