(no subject)
Amsterdam made me want to escape. I still regret leaving early, but all my reason tells me that it couldn't have been any other way. It took all of my composure to walk from my loud Irish pub-slash-hostel across the Geldesekade without bursting into tears. I was exhausted, and at the same time so amazed at how decrepit the touristy part of the city could seem with all the hawkers and beggars, but simultaneously so beautiful. The sunset lanced across the postcard canal-lining houses and glimmered on the ripples of the water - probably polluted beyond belief, but striking also beyond words.
I finally let go in the phone booth. The door slammed shut behind me after I gave the Indian man my five euro. "Mom, I have to come home. I'm so tired." And it was the truth. I had gone 1000 miles in a few days by train, I was living permanantly off overdrafted cash, and my whole brain was just awash in this blur of people I had met and beers I had drank, and showers I had taken in half-dazes at 4 in the morning. Roberto was still on my mind, and I still had his scrawled note tucked away in my passport and a good portion of that "borrowed" money had gone towards phone cards to call him and just hear his voice for a few minutes before the overpriced long-distance cut out.
After I got off the phone, I sat in a bar called Cockring with my eyes still red from the phone call. This German couple bought me a beer, offering to bring me to one of the booths in the back. They were really understanding, even when I told them that I would really prefer to be left alone. The taller one patted me on the back and said, "It's okay. Everybody gets homesick. Even when you don't want to be."
That was almost 3 years ago, and I still think about it every day.