Sevda Khatamian | Lazy Letter: Home is not home anymore
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Lazy Letter: Home is not home anymore

Things are going well on my end. How are you?! The idea of traveling is starting to grow on me, feels like I can run it my whole life. There are many ups and downs to it, but can’t really complain when I have all the freedom I want. Dealing with visa is the most difficult one, the most annoying one and the most tiring one. But what can I say?! It’s probably just the way of it.

Not very long ago, I was trapped in an unhealthy employee life. I didn’t eat well, didn’t sleep well, it was all about hard work. To me, everything was fine back then. Well, not really fine, I was still annoyed by the extra hours that had to be spent in the office, and all the work that was done without a simple appreciation. But things were normal. They became my normal, and I was alright with the life I was living. As though it was the way it was supposed to be. Go to work and come back home every day. Live with the job, party over the weekend and spend a couple of weeks here and there as the annual vacation. I didn’t know any better. A lot of people still live so. I’m not judging, I’m just saying! And I’m not saying it all because I’m mesmerized by the power of the road, or my trips have opened my third eye or something. The truth is that I’m back to all the cities that I once lived, somehow as if I’m seeing myself in the mirror. I had a life in all these places, each very different from another. I left, and things stopped happening.

Looking back at it, I notice a big change. All these cities have lost their innocence somewhere, and they’ve started to look like one another. Heavy traffic and long lines of cars, shops and waves of tall apartment buildings would be the first thing to notice. Polluted air and very dirty hands would come next. Still, pretty comfortable to know the streets and the way of getting things done. To easily know which bus to take, which store to shop, or what shortcut to walk by. Not having to check the map and fearing from getting lost. I do get lost easily! In that, though, something bothers, something hurts. Like a needle stuck in my person. Only, I can’t tell where it’s stuck, can’t pull it out. Ture, I might not be happy and the depression is constantly following me, but that doesn’t mean these moments aren’t filled with joy. I started this journey looking for a home. The more I travel, the more I want to see. And the more I see, the more I realize what a shitty life I was trapped in. Nothing’s fair. It never is.

I met a man at the embassy yesterday. He was French, had a lovely accent. He’s been traveling for a year now. Not quite the same, but we were on the same path; we somehow looked a little bit alike. He showed me his notebook. He said he takes notes during his travels. I looked through the notebook, and you know what, he writes even smaller than I do.

3.Aug.17 – Ankara, Turkey

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