Sacrifice (noun) - the surrender or destruction of something prized or desirable for the sake of something considered as having a higher or more pressing claim.
How does one decide what is worth having, what is worth giving up, or what won’t make a difference either way? It may be a tuna sandwich, or it may be a relationship with a friend who knows your deepest, darkest secrets. Can one just press ‘delete’ on something that has endured time and consequence, that has become a fixture of sorts?
I don’t know how I form the relationships that I do. I’m not even able to place myself on this proverbial spectrum that has been the talk of late, from ‘B’ to ‘P’, with As and Ks and Ns and Rs and Js all placed in between. Maybe I’ll understand when I’m older, when the sacrifice cuts in, or the older layers shed and I find out what I want to be, and who I want to be around. For now: I might be a different me for different people - actually, I definitely am. I’m not very good at self-examination, however I’ve been keeping a watchful eye lately to make it easier to be. Be myself. Be not what’s expected. The shirt, tie, and jeans, for example. Maybe you needed a reason for that, maybe you didn’t. Maybe that one is to be expected from me at this point. I don’t see the sense in doing it any different. Have to be comfortable, right?
There are people who like to possess, there are others who give in, and there are some who have genuine intentions. I typically stick by the honest ones. But dropping down into a hole, being tagged and held onto, over 2 months after the fact, I don’t feel very liberated. Given, I do a lot more for myself, but I’m still always itching at my side, trying not to have to qualify my every action. It’s really just a bother. And it isn’t really considerate. I’m not the only one who’s noticed.
I have given in, and given up, 2 years of my life to a lost cause. Sometimes, there just isn’t hope. Sometimes the sacrifice doesn’t make the good greater, it just undermines the point of trying.
I’m inspired to write a tragedy. Maybe a tragic comedy. I would never find the time, and I don’t have quite enough experience. Though, there are a good few hours of flying time coming up in 20 days. That’s my escape. That’s my way out of this post-relationship. Deutschland, embrace me and make me a better, more independent man. Though doing this thing, on my own, one must admit, is pretty damn independent. And I’m not sure yet whether the excitement outweighs the fright, or if it’s the inverse that is a true fact. Could I go on for days about what I want to see and do there? Naturally…But I can’t spoil the surprise now. One must simply wait in anxious desperation for my correspondence from across the pond.
I will say one thing: I want to bring my guitar, but 2 months is too long to carry it around. And I’m afraid I’d lose it. And it’d be an extra piece of luggage to drag around the skinny streets of Europe. And I’ll miss it. And I’ll write some songs anyway. And I can live without. And I’m not going to take it. See? And that was one of the harder conclusions to come to. This might give me more opportunity to play with my drum machine, because that isn’t nearly as large - it can even fit in my bag. Now onto trading dollars for euros!
I am under the assumption that people go to Europe [unless they are already in Europe - in which case, I don’t know where the f’k they go] to find their selves. Maybe that’s what I’m doing. As if my self is over there, waiting for me in a predetermined place, where I will stop in my tracks and transform into something different. Someone different. I mean, yes: European drugs must be incredible. But regardless of that, am I going to be the same, tied-down boy I’ve been for 2 years+? Maybe not. Maybe I’m just using it as an excuse to be different. To be a citizen of the world! To make, to express. To be. Myself. The catch is, after a week of post-school travelling about the continent, I’ll need to be able to make it back to Frankfurt and catch my flight home. Or else I won’t be a changed anything. I’ll have to sell my soul and body until I wind up with enough cash to get home. LOL. I’m a responsible guy, right?
It isn’t too much, I feel, to ask for a little privacy here and there. Upon further reflection, do I really need to traverse the world to receive it? Yes, I think in my case, I do. Because nothing else is helping. I’m not helping myself, either. These borders have been defined, but someone’s still trying to cross ‘em. I’m ready to be single now, please.
I reminisce sometimes on the times when I was frivolous, but often I don’t remember them. I’ve been involved in some real messes which dragged down some good friends too. But having more interest in retaining those good friendships, I’ve tried not to let it all phase me. Yes, I am being very vague. Thanks for asking. Never had I felt so content with a 2 year investment such as this. But also, on the opposite end: never have I wished more that the good kept going, or that I had done something to fix it. And yes, I had tried a hell of a lot, even if it seems otherwise to some. I suppose, overall, I’m happy with my current position. Not necessarily the position of others that surround me, though. You’ll understand when you’re older.
I can’t speak about this on a philosophical plain, because I don’t know who the f’k said what, when or where that relates at all to me, here and now. Maybe someone else can enlighten me. Take the hint, kid. I do like philosophy, the small amount I’m familiar with. And I do have the intention of studying those old guys some more when I ever find the time.
To the untrained eye, I’m great all the time. Unless I’ve let my guard down. And to others who know me too well, or not at all in some cases, I’m quite the opposite. Sometimes I wish they didn’t, so that I wouldn’t have to admit to it. So that I could continue. So that I could keep moving on.
I’m leaving soon - leaving home, leaving friends, leaving you. I’m exploring a new part of the world and myself. Then I’m coming back home to it all. We’ll have to assess afterwards where I would rather be, or if I need to try again, some other range of foreign culture.
Worried, but nonetheless ready for takeoff,
Q.