an old nanny once said
When you need me but do not want me,
then I must stay.
But When you want me but no longer need me,
then I have to go.
The children were playing in Alexanderplatz. A street trickster was waving two sticks connecting a string form that released gleaming huge bubbles when dipped in soapy water.
“2 Euros and you can try it” he told the young blonde girl watching intently.
She reached into the pocket in her frock, meddled around and finally pulled out a shining coin. She reached out and placed it into the tricksters hand, following which a trade was made with the sticks. Excited, she quickly placed the string form into the soapy water and waved the sticks around, releasing nothing but a soft pop.
“Do it slowly” the trickster instructed her.
She tried it again, this time taking a better look at the way the sticks were attached. She dipped the string form into the water, and in a graceful motion , waved the sticks releasing a beautiful large bubble.
I watched that bubble float – sparkling in its own way, with the soft sun creating a plethora of colours for my sight. It was absolutely beautiful; the way it moved and the way it was singing its own song. Then, as a gust of wind blew through the Platz, the bubble was no more.
It had popped.
Three words. So final, yet so curt and traumatic.
I’m not supposed to take this summer so seriously. I was supposed to come to Europe, to enjoy myself and learn more about the world and myself. To prove things about me that I know true and to challenge things about myself I hope to change.
But it seems like I can’t do that. Not with feelings like these that make no sense at all. There’s a mix of joy and familiarity, of indulgence with hints of love and yet there’s also jealousy and caution. This summer will come to an end, and when it does, consequences will follow.
I don’t want summer to be a bubble. I want it to be a horizon, a trajectory for something bigger. All I can do is to keep on writing , and dreaming . And that kills me inside.