3 more weeks.
I stare at my calendar and count again. Only 3 more weeks left. No. Yes. I can’t believe how fast time has gone by. This plan still feels just as surreal as the day I made my decision. I’m packing up my life to move to a different country. This makes me feel a lot. All the time. Like now.
Heavy rain is pouring down outside my window, I sit on my couch surrounded by boxes, to-do lists and whatever is left of what I called my home for 2,5 years. My mood becomes nostalgic and I haven’t even left this country yet.
There’s a feeling I’ve been noticing more and more recently. The knowledge that I’m leaving this place soon, makes everything look different and more beautiful. Brussels seems to sparkle and shine a bit brighter every now and then. And I suddenly find the Belgian Ardennes region “romantic” and the Flemish countryside “charming”. Weird.
Would there be a name for this feeling? Some kind of disease only known by travellers and expats worldwide? Would it be lethal? Will I die one day from exhausting confusion? Would it be contagious? “Don’t come too close, you might see your world too romantic as well.” Whatever the disease, it will definitely make for some great epitaphs: “Death by romance” or “She choked on the sugar coating of life”. Wild.
And this. Is only. The beginning.
So I’ll probably feel much more weird stuff. (Also know as emotions. A wide range of them.) Only 3 more weeks to go. I’ve still got so much more to do and enjoy and only so little time left. Wait. When did I go from longing for this moment to finally arrive, to wishing I had a little more time?