Nine minutes
My flight back home leaves in nine minutes. I am not on the airplane. I am not even at the airport. I just made it to Lima, Peru, 43 hours ago. I came from Santiago. I forgot two dresses, my headphones and a wristband there. The only thing I had bought for my family and friends until then was a pack of dulce de leche. I did not have anymore space in my backpack, because all the clothes I wanted to throw away were still there. I did not change any of my money, even though I had four different currencies in my wallet. I just could not do it.
I have been to Lima before, last December, four months ago. But when I arrived this time, it was different. I could talk to the bus company and to the taxi driver in Spanish. I met other travelers and told them about incredible places, exhausting hikes and the time of my life. I stood in the middle of the street with my backpack, my clothes were dirty and my hair was a mess. And somehow I felt home. I had made five countries my living room for more than half a year. My house was full of experiences. There was poverty, there was sadness, there were tears. But there were also endless nights spent laughing, sunrises at the beach and people that put others first in the most incredible ways. There was so much growth.
Before I came to Lima, I cried my heart out in Santiago. There were a lot of obligations waiting for me back home. I went to Lima because I felt like I had to, had to fix things in Austria and Germany. I put my life on a pro and contra list. The result was an equation that just did not work out. Because I am not compromising with happiness, not any more.
I am a lot more emotional now. I am a little more crazy and spontaneous. And I have never been that happy. My flight back home left 48 minutes ago. I am living in a fucking Mexican telenovela now. But if you do not mind tears, it is going to be really good.
