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I don´t know how to deal with my wanderlust. 3 weeks ago, that I wrapped up my staff to catch the plane back to Germany. It is cold here. Grey. I am staying alone most of the time. Inside and alone, physical and mental. I am listening to music. Watching season by season. Loosing myself between my photographs. I do shopping, furious. Buy stuff I never will wear or need when I will have left Europe again, in April. I wonder why I haven´t bought a cupboard yet. This culture, my cultural background sucks my passion, to be and to breath, to move on the whole, to be creative. I miss the person I am on the road. I miss you so much, me. I am crying as much as I can, hoping to feel relief. But I am just at the wrong place. I feel so wrong. And this is not about the greatest, best friends you can have, here and in my life. It is this mighty abyssal hole inside of me, gulping me, I try to hold on, grap my desires deep into the past, into what I was teached, to hold ground in the bottomless. Buy this brand fashion style puppets, adopting the present, pretend to be happy, a man of this world, a globetrotter. Instead of this the globe overruns me. I am lost again, I am inside of lost. Maybe still. I am between. And something has changed. I know where I belong to. Not to Cambodia, to the family there, to my sisters and brothers. I will find sisters and brothers everywhere, cause I am human and I need love or/and/and especially hate. I know I belong to the road. I wanna die on this road, not in a room full of possession, possessed by the possession and eternal pushy anxiety for being someone.
I don´t wanna be someone, I just wanna feel alive.
Lost, choke on me!