Next Stop

Of all the things I’m always amused of when I travel by train is the coincidence of always choosing the seat that makes me go riding backwards. Sometimes I wonder if the unconscious me tries to tell me something or if I really enjoy the feeling of watching everything I’m leaving behind. It’s like a slow motion movie of my life winding back. Every day; the same places looking different from a different seat, from a different window, from a different height.

It’s not the first time I consider myself to be running away from something; or someone. It’s hard nowadays to get me attached to anything. I guess it’s the price I pay for being a gypsy in the whole sense of the word. It’s not just an oddity that I always have a suitcase ready with the essentials to any kind of trip, yes,  that is a tooth brush, passport, a good book, a swimming suit, a sweater, some Band-Aids, chocolate and yes, of course, an eyebrow’s tweezers, after all, I’m still a girl. ‘Always ready’, as a girl scout, that’s my motto (or at least that’s what my wise mom says). Not caring what I’m leaving behind, just where I’m heading to – that’s what I think. ‘Determination!’ Um-hum, that’s what I heard that old man say to me once while queuing in a bank  just to get my last statements ready for the next destination.

I can still taste the voices of my friends; I can still smell my excitement of embarking in a new adventure. I can still feel the tears of my beloved ones rolling down against my cheeks, so cold and yet so warm inside. My family, my siblings from another parents, my streets, my shopping malls, my trees, the mountain that said hi to me every morning and every evening before going to sleep, right before checking my last emails and going thru the last text messages on my mobile; the sound of the late night drivers, the wandering lonely souls, the big time partygoers or even the early workers. All: familiar lullabies to my dreams.

I wonder when I’ll realize it’s all left behind. At least I know it’s a decision made, on the right time, and I’d dare to say even the right place. Perhaps I like to watch it all passing thru my window, right in front of me, and meticulously take a mental picture of it. Like the daily pursue of something I haven’t got yet, I know it’s hard to understand, but I’m getting there; like the carrot in front of my eyes, it’s automagically happening, I’m moving forward and watching the past beside me, smiling at me, teaching me the little things I overrated before, vanish into the grin of an unfamiliar face. At the end I know where I’m going. Or at least I know where I want to be. Everyday I’m getting closer to it, I can feel it. I see, I remember, I move on. Maybe riding backwards in a train is not such a bad thing anyways; it gives me the feeling of doing it again, and again, and again. Next time it’ll be different. Next time I’ll look the other way. Next stop is near I fear; next stop is getting clear; next stop is where I get out… next stop is home.

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