Getting stuck

Pete, the anti-Ami, joins us. We head through the rain to Central Auckland to hire a car. It’s a sign: no car today. No movement. It’s been the same for days. Partying until we drop. I’m very tired. Don’t stay out, but don’t really stay in either. I’m not travelling the world to slowly dissolve. I’m looking for crystallisation points.

I lose money at roulette in the casino and win every poker match as long as it involves beer. Meanwhile, New Zealand is celebrating the third day of an old assassination attempt on the English Parliament. With fireworks. Lisa and Marc hang over the third bottle of tequila. I try to slow down where I can. But at some point I give up. They have to find the bottom themselves.

In the meantime, I try to make the most of my big trip and take stock after five months. I’ve seen some wonderful places. I’m starting to live on earth, not somewhere in Germany. Everywhere. The feeling is good. Seeing how little you really need. At first, the weight of my luggage crushed me. Now half of it is gone, and I could give half of it away again. To see: Home is what you carry inside you. If you carry the right thing, it’s everywhere.

People come and go. Some come just to leave, others leave to come back. The difference between the two groups is infinitely large and sometimes beautiful, sometimes dreadful.

Some carry their God deep inside them, while others do everything they can to vomit him out. In the morning, they sometimes realise that it was never inside. But that doesn’t have to be a reason to try to visualise it again in the same way. Perhaps it is not even in vain.

I’m chronically unsure who belongs to which group. But I will find out. Probably somewhere far away. I don’t need other people.