I don’t want to wait forever
until I finally admit that, I’m a writer
It is just so scary, to be open, vulnerable on paper. It is just so scary to be out there, fully, alive, awake.
I’m tired. I’m so tired, I did not sleep at night. Things go wrong. I thought this would be easy but it’s not. Easy. It’s hard.
A new country, language, art. That’s not it. I wish it was just a matter of time, training, try out. Again. It’s not. It’s a matter of truth. Who am I what do I need where do I stay? Home. Nama-stay. For now, I stay home.
Where is my home? It’s where the heart is, where the hurt is, where I no longer stay in. I go out. Into the world, another new adventure. And so I write. Another story.
Truth is, only if I go in, I will find my way out. Truth is, only if I let go, I can let in. Life, love. Lullabies. And so it is.