when the winter’s cold, where do robins go?

I’m in Brussels, and there are birds singing everywhere. There are pink flowers in the trees and that constant song. I can’t see them, I only see pigeons, but I hear them. Excited, singing for the arrival of spring. But isn’t it late this year? I think it’s late this year. Brussel is on the continent and we’re in the middle of April. Spring should already be here.

Strange, too, how easy it is to ajust to the life of a traveler. 16 days ago, I was at Stockholm university, planning for my bachelor’s thesis – and now I’m in the capital of the European Union, with memories from almost the entire country of Liberia in my mind. I feel at home, sleeping in a new bed every other night, living this life of exceptions. I shouldn’t be like this. I should finish my thesis and start my master’s and be done with it.

But instead, I want to go back. I want to continue. I want Sierra Leone, Nigeria, Mali and Senegal, the Balkans, New Zeeland, India, Argentina and Chile. I have this vagabond in me, and I don’t know what to do with her.

My plan is to write about Liberia, long texts describing all the odd and amazing things that I experienced with Hanna and mom. My plans rarely work out the way I think they would, though, so we’ll see. I have this thing called a bachelor’s thesis to do too.