Seven months of silence. Icecold and cruel quietness. Instead of words I bled unuttered thoughts and mute sentiments onto empty pages. I still had a lot to say but I had nothing to share. Private happenings had excavated an unfamiliar medley of anxiety and anticipation and had brought a swarm of feelings to light that rummaged about under my rib cage month after month. In silence. Eventually, these happenings and their flustering side-effects resulted in one big wonder. The world as I knew it was shaken up and turned upside down - in the most wonderful way.
Today, I have settled down in this marvel and I am dwelling within it with a heart as light as hydrogen. I am more alive than ever and each day spits out so many new memories that my inner photo album is bursting with cluttered pages. Everything is "good" now, and my quest to embrace and conquer this world never tasted sweeter.
It's merely my return to my home country that leaves me slightly unsettled - ironically enough - and doubtful. Discussing this very matter, a friend of mine recently said: "Every decision is a good decision. Simply because you can't go back and take the alternative route to check where it would lead you." I entirely agree with him here. Regret is an unknown emotional reaction to me. For when I do something, my venture was either thoroughly verified by my ratio or it was driven by an emotional impulse that was too strong to be controlled by means of rational willpower.
In this case, however, my decision to "remigrate" created a sensation of failure and regression. And this is something that I agonise about. But there is more to it. Munich feels different today. The traits that I once respected, loved and missed today spawn tedium and pity. I have mentioned the homogeneity of the Bavarian capital more than once throughout my compositions, and I don't want to belabour this perception but this uniformity that naturally mates with a great deal of intransigence becomes uglier the longer I look at it. The fact that my negative feelings towards monotony intensified during my Italian adventure surely also enters the equation.
Munich didn't change during my absence of four years. But I did. I became acquainted with different cultures, different cities and I came to appreciate the heterogeneity, the ability to compromise and improvise that I credit London with. Let alone the artistic and creative potency popping and sprouting from every crack and crevice and of course all the people that I fell in love with as well as the memories and friendships that I carried home with me. London turned me into an altered version of myself, a version that I like better and that struggles to feel home again in its hometown. When I wander about the streets of Munich today, the familiarity doesn't touch me anymore. I somehow pity all the efforts this city takes to keep everything in order as this "overstructuredness" induces a rigidness that thwarts creative outbursts and individuality.
I miss London. And I will miss London every day that I will spend away from it. So, let's see how long I will be able to resist London's call or how long it will take Munich to reconquer my heart with its forgotten beauty. Right now Munich is the right place, and I will embrace the boredom the homey familiarity entails to focus on the excitement of the new world that I live in today.
"Your true traveler finds boredom rather agreeable than painful. It is the symbol of his liberty - his excessive freedom. He accepts his boredom, when it comes, not merely philosophically, but almost with pleasure." ~ Aldous Huxley
