Strangely, I’m having a hard time moving on, every bit of me is resisting the change, all I want is to go back in time, to still be writing my PhD, to still be living in the small apartment with the small balcony, to still be running along the quays to alternative rock music, to still be doing Pilates classes with my Eastern European instructor who once had a stroke and told us that everyone has their own little health problems.
I know it was the same when I moved from Germany; all I wanted was to pack my bags and move back to Germany, to still be in my little room in the student housing, to still go for walks in the forest next door, to still go to the huge supermarkets that had everything, to still have everything clean and clear and organised, and to still have seasons: summer, autumn, spring, winter.
But then a couple of months after I moved to Dublin, something changed. A new friend gave me a hug one day when I was upset, and from then on, things started to get better and better. A year later, I couldn't believe I had had a hard time getting used to Dublin, it felt like it was my city, I was so comfortable, so happy, so glad I had moved and experienced this new place, with its own quirks and culture and fun.
With the future as a way of life, and everything in constant motion, I know I will get up and pack that suitcase and board that plane when the time comes. But now, for just a little while, I'm allowing myself a bit of nostalgia.
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