sour cancellation
There's unenviable nostalgia in things not done. Or travels that fail to manifest as dreamt. But there must be some sort of lesson or some sort of greater something behind the tearful disappointment of abrupt ruptures in planning.
I knew I was packing for nothing as I stuffed my bag full of clothes I would potentially need in Siberia. I also knew that I wasn't going as far and as for long as I had dreamt when I cleaned my office desk. But still I kept the pace up. I knew I wasn't going where I really yearned to go to yet at the same time couldn't quite determine what precisely was going on. How come I felt much more invested in the moment and in Luxembourg at that very last moment, only a few days before departure?
I guess a deeper lesson ensues from all of this: I am not as in control of the apparent illusion, and hence ought to stop such long-term planning.
But the hurry is still there. The same hurry that tempted me to South-East Asia all the way until the tsunami struck. This time the hurry is calling me to North-East Asia. To the Baikal lake. It appears in unexpected ways and calls me to it in odd manners. I am to go there but not like this. Nor like last year, as I had planned it. Perhaps I am not yet ready for whatever awaits me there... even though the hurry calls, yearns and begs for me to get there asap.
I sat in the bus today, on our way from Salo to Helsinki, or more precisely from Kruusila (we stayed at the Friendship Inn - awesome place) to the Helsinki train station (on the train to Rovaniemi! Yay), and couldn't help but shed a tear or two. I feel so far from the centre point I have come to know as my own - and I can't seem to find my way back to it any way. It's as if this trip that has now failed to materialise is the symptom of a deeper displacement that is gripping my inner sense of self.
Gosh. I should sleep, enjoy this night train, and just let it all go.
Let go.
My feet are aching.
I knew I was packing for nothing as I stuffed my bag full of clothes I would potentially need in Siberia. I also knew that I wasn't going as far and as for long as I had dreamt when I cleaned my office desk. But still I kept the pace up. I knew I wasn't going where I really yearned to go to yet at the same time couldn't quite determine what precisely was going on. How come I felt much more invested in the moment and in Luxembourg at that very last moment, only a few days before departure?
I guess a deeper lesson ensues from all of this: I am not as in control of the apparent illusion, and hence ought to stop such long-term planning.
But the hurry is still there. The same hurry that tempted me to South-East Asia all the way until the tsunami struck. This time the hurry is calling me to North-East Asia. To the Baikal lake. It appears in unexpected ways and calls me to it in odd manners. I am to go there but not like this. Nor like last year, as I had planned it. Perhaps I am not yet ready for whatever awaits me there... even though the hurry calls, yearns and begs for me to get there asap.
I sat in the bus today, on our way from Salo to Helsinki, or more precisely from Kruusila (we stayed at the Friendship Inn - awesome place) to the Helsinki train station (on the train to Rovaniemi! Yay), and couldn't help but shed a tear or two. I feel so far from the centre point I have come to know as my own - and I can't seem to find my way back to it any way. It's as if this trip that has now failed to materialise is the symptom of a deeper displacement that is gripping my inner sense of self.
Gosh. I should sleep, enjoy this night train, and just let it all go.
Let go.
My feet are aching.