In a continuos state of underestimating the power of boredom, I lived in a city that captivated me like a goldfish trapped in a glass bowl. Yet, an unquestionable love had developed between me and this city I was born into, which I would imagine, was more out of necessity, than any other reason. But who wouldn’t be in perpetual adoration when born on 07/11 in a city with the area code 0711.
No denial, there were good times, especially the one summer, me and my friends became somewhat like the new inventory of the city outdoor pool, sunbathed until p.m. and partied until a.m.. Not to mention, all the wonderful people I’ve met and call my friends now, the love that I’ve found (and fortunately lost again), the dreams I’ve build up and the family that stood by my side.
But most importantly, the city made me realize, that I grew out of it. My hunger for new experiences took over and kept the dream alive of being a better me at a place where cheeseburgers are for breakfast and the Super Bowl is a rather religious convention. Who wouldn’t want this to be their life mantra? So I hold my breath, clapped my red sparkling ballet flats three times (Dorothy-like in The Wizard of Oz) and found myself in San Francisco.
There I was, living life in a dreamy fuzz of utopia, absorbed by the place, its people and its distinctive magic, which came in form of daily mist covering all what might remind you of the earnest of life. Unfortunately, the magic couldn’t stop my Visa from expiring and I had to go back to the city I broke up with six months ago. You know, what they’re saying about going back to old loves, right? It’s meant to fail.
All I knew was, that it was a matter of time, until I would be leaving again. The city never felt that wrong to me, as it did back then. I couldn’t help but focus on all its bad sides. If there was anything good it had to offer, I would still be like a sulking child who didn’t get the right sort of ice-cream. It felt like I got sugar-free and fat-free frozen yoghurt instead of chocolate ice cream with whipped cream on top.
Finally, I got my chocolate ice cream. Another six months later I was calling London my new home. This time it wasn’t magic, no shoe clapping, but a one-way flight, two suitcases, an umbrella and no mist to cover up reality.
If you leave once, you are caught in a life-long journey to find peace of mind, wherever you go. I had no choice but to take this risk, which I wasn’t aware would be like a ride on a roller coaster. I’m glad I did. However, I’m still searching for the whipped cream!