About the tour
I watch the world go by, familiar faces and strangers. Unfamiliar glances and some… even more unfamiliar. Sitting beside a bench, the way I like it. Down low. On the ground.
I watch their eyes, how they wander. Their hands, how tightly clenched they are, buried in forgotten coats that this year found no time to breathe.
And a thought: that everything must somehow manage to “finish” in time, so that we can find gaps in the new year for the next things to “begin”.
And wishes and joys, and the tear that rolls down, which I secretly wipe away with my good white jacket. So that no one sees me and asks what happened. Nothing happened.
It’s okay not to want some “somethings” to end. It’s okay to want to let the doors slam loudly and the wind gallop from the old year into the cracks of the new.
I look around as if I’ve never seen people before. Nostalgia. That vast feeling that ties your stomach in a knot because, quite simply, you can’t explain it. How lovely it is when words are not enough.
Nostalgia. Joy and sorrow together, so close together that you don’t know whether you want them to part and come to an end. Like your “somethings”.
I didn’t write any new goals in my diary this year. Maybe I’ll achieve last year’s. Maybe I already have.
Sitting down here, I’m starting to freeze.
Don’t get up. Don’t rush to get comfortable.
The “now” sends shivers down my spine. But I fear that if I forbid it to get lost in the past or to roam free in the future, I will imprison it and it will hate me.
I will get up. I will run. To the tangled “somethings” I long for. To my tangled, free self. Into the light.
And as I travel on like this, I’ll leave the tear on my good white jacket, to etch the first imprint of the new year.
So that it reminds me of everything I don’t want to forget.