Quarantine has imposed a situation on me, unsurprisingly, that I didn't think I'd have to face again: I moved back into my teenage room. Vaalserquartier, a village near Aachen in Germany, is surrounded by hills in three countries: the Dutch border is 20 yards from my childhood home, Belgium three miles maybe, if that. Surrounded by beautiful scenery, it is the perfect place for some hillwalking as your "daily exercise" and a long bike ride through three countries which sounds as amazing as it is. Given the circumstances a house near the countryside is a blessing nobody could have foreseen - but there is also the reality that I spent my teens in this room, this house, this place, promising myself to go away and never come back... whoops!
When you grow up in a world like mine, it's hard to innately acknowledge how fortunate you are. In my world growing up, I was not wealthy which is insane. My mom used to to point at the window right next to me now which was divided into four smaller windows. "If everyone in the world was on this window", she would say, "only one of the four smaller window parts would have rich people on it." She made me guess which part of the window I thought I was on. I guessed wrong of course. I had no idea I was on the "rich" part of the window, or the world, or that my mom was grossly exaggerating that one fourth of the people on the planet would be as lucky as me when it comes to growing up. But I didn't get that then. I was young. I thought what's out there must be better.
Of course I wasn't wrong. I saw the movies, at the time I thought it was the USA that had the better life because that's what the movies taught us in the 90s. I didn't know the places I would go to from here would not have hills, and green parks or even freedom of speech or democracy; blessings I didn't even grasp then. The things that are the most amazing about growing up in this town were things I had no idea were not the same way for everyone. Especially space was not a commodity I ever thought would become expensive, or even unattainable. I would ride my bike to a lake near my house most nights, watch the sunset and read on a pier overlooking the rolling hills surrounding the village. I had no idea that was special, not normal.
Today, I sat on that pier again. I rode the same bike down there I bought age 14 to make it to my piano lessons not far from there. I had an mp3-player in the early 2000s which was the newest craze. It allowed me to upload 15 songs I could then play anywhere. Kelly Clarkson had written a song that I thought she had written for me: "Breakaway". It was about a small town girl that wanted to "fly away" and do bigger things. She also didn't want to forget where she came from, but she definitely wanted to experience, see more, do better. I obviously thought that was me. Wanting "more". As I sat there today, listening to the song to take me back and reflect, I tried to understand what "more" entailed.
This stupid pop song you have to be 14 to love literally makes me cry. That is 100% how I felt every day of my teenage life. I just did not believe that Vaalserquartier, the view of the village on the other hill, was what was there for me. Kelly names all the things she wants to do, and I have literally done all of them, including flying in a freaking private jet, and who can say that they have? And here I am, still sitting under the same damn tree 15 years later, hating myself for not seeing that perfection was there all along. Maybe it wasn't Vaalserquartier that was enough for me but the thirst for "more" was never quenched for me by breaking away. In fact, what I probably miss most in life is what I had in the very beginning of it. And when I did, I didn't want it.
What still rings true is the that breaking away and making a change takes more courage than I was aware I had. That is another thing I thought was normal. But it fucking isn't. Getting on a plane to leave your parents at age 16 to go live abroad for a year might be something a lot of people do but I thought it was my destiny, everything I was born to do: leaving. And now that it has actually become a problem, because I leave all the time and can't stay with anyone or anywhere, I see the mistakes I set myself up for. Not appreciating that looking at a countryside sunset every night is not in any way normal, but a blessing and something that speaks to my heart, is probably the only regret of my life: I missed the chance to love that experience for years. But then again I might only love it that much for exactly that reason: because it's an experience from the very beginning, not the break away.
I don't regret leaving at all. What I regret is believing, in my teenage, spoiled white kid mind, that I could do better. I wasn't wrong in many ways - but I was in others. I upgraded in experiences, also part of a privilege hard to fathom, I traveled to all of the places small town Kelly envisioned and I definitely make more money now. But I don't have a home. At least nothing that comes at all close to the one I was raised in. I made the change, and changed everything, even the good things. And those things are now missing. But today it's harder to change, and getting those things back is now out of my hands. Life is a vicious cycle of desire for things we don't have. But if quarantine taught me one thing it's that the pursuit of things we do not have leads to misery. The only thing that matters even a little bit is what is already there. Happiness comes from loving the things we have at the same time we have them.
When you grow up in a world like mine, it's hard to innately acknowledge how fortunate you are. In my world growing up, I was not wealthy which is insane. My mom used to to point at the window right next to me now which was divided into four smaller windows. "If everyone in the world was on this window", she would say, "only one of the four smaller window parts would have rich people on it." She made me guess which part of the window I thought I was on. I guessed wrong of course. I had no idea I was on the "rich" part of the window, or the world, or that my mom was grossly exaggerating that one fourth of the people on the planet would be as lucky as me when it comes to growing up. But I didn't get that then. I was young. I thought what's out there must be better.
Of course I wasn't wrong. I saw the movies, at the time I thought it was the USA that had the better life because that's what the movies taught us in the 90s. I didn't know the places I would go to from here would not have hills, and green parks or even freedom of speech or democracy; blessings I didn't even grasp then. The things that are the most amazing about growing up in this town were things I had no idea were not the same way for everyone. Especially space was not a commodity I ever thought would become expensive, or even unattainable. I would ride my bike to a lake near my house most nights, watch the sunset and read on a pier overlooking the rolling hills surrounding the village. I had no idea that was special, not normal.
Today, I sat on that pier again. I rode the same bike down there I bought age 14 to make it to my piano lessons not far from there. I had an mp3-player in the early 2000s which was the newest craze. It allowed me to upload 15 songs I could then play anywhere. Kelly Clarkson had written a song that I thought she had written for me: "Breakaway". It was about a small town girl that wanted to "fly away" and do bigger things. She also didn't want to forget where she came from, but she definitely wanted to experience, see more, do better. I obviously thought that was me. Wanting "more". As I sat there today, listening to the song to take me back and reflect, I tried to understand what "more" entailed.
This stupid pop song you have to be 14 to love literally makes me cry. That is 100% how I felt every day of my teenage life. I just did not believe that Vaalserquartier, the view of the village on the other hill, was what was there for me. Kelly names all the things she wants to do, and I have literally done all of them, including flying in a freaking private jet, and who can say that they have? And here I am, still sitting under the same damn tree 15 years later, hating myself for not seeing that perfection was there all along. Maybe it wasn't Vaalserquartier that was enough for me but the thirst for "more" was never quenched for me by breaking away. In fact, what I probably miss most in life is what I had in the very beginning of it. And when I did, I didn't want it.
What still rings true is the that breaking away and making a change takes more courage than I was aware I had. That is another thing I thought was normal. But it fucking isn't. Getting on a plane to leave your parents at age 16 to go live abroad for a year might be something a lot of people do but I thought it was my destiny, everything I was born to do: leaving. And now that it has actually become a problem, because I leave all the time and can't stay with anyone or anywhere, I see the mistakes I set myself up for. Not appreciating that looking at a countryside sunset every night is not in any way normal, but a blessing and something that speaks to my heart, is probably the only regret of my life: I missed the chance to love that experience for years. But then again I might only love it that much for exactly that reason: because it's an experience from the very beginning, not the break away.
I don't regret leaving at all. What I regret is believing, in my teenage, spoiled white kid mind, that I could do better. I wasn't wrong in many ways - but I was in others. I upgraded in experiences, also part of a privilege hard to fathom, I traveled to all of the places small town Kelly envisioned and I definitely make more money now. But I don't have a home. At least nothing that comes at all close to the one I was raised in. I made the change, and changed everything, even the good things. And those things are now missing. But today it's harder to change, and getting those things back is now out of my hands. Life is a vicious cycle of desire for things we don't have. But if quarantine taught me one thing it's that the pursuit of things we do not have leads to misery. The only thing that matters even a little bit is what is already there. Happiness comes from loving the things we have at the same time we have them. 