Four. Cry.

Please read this text like you would watch a dance where the end and beginning don’t exist, just the dancer’s or dancers’ continuous alignment with music only for the sake of experiencing the present moment as self-forgetfully as possible. Thus, like the dance, this text has a beginning and an end, but it will not offer any truths about how to best experience this life. I will merely try to use writing as a different way of dancing, because I feel writing is my most naturally occurring form of self-forgetful self-expression.

Sunflowers

Our fourth companion, Aleksandra, arrived to Amsterdam right when we were finishing up with Mr. Newton’s work. She also blended in with the others just perfectly despite not really knowing them beforehand. Besides, the sun started to show itself from behind the clouds making the day even prettier than before. It was time have some proper food. Alena has been a volunteer in India and explained us the difference between North Indian and South Indian food. Apparently South Indian is the better one, but most Indian restaurants in the Western world offer North Indian food. Obviously. However, Alena met someone from South India a couple of days earlier who recommended this great restaurant in Amsterdam that serves South Indian food. Aww yeah, baby. That’s where we went. And enjoyed it. So much. It was just bangin’. We arrived to a restaurant that had barely any people in it, but found ourselves from a full restaurant by the time we had received the food we ordered. Just lovely, init.

South Indian food

Van Gogh

Next it was time for our main destination of the night. The reason me and Marcel planned to go to Amsterdam in the first place. The museum of the one and only Vincent van Gogh. On Fridays they have a special Friday night programme, leaving the museum open until 10pm instead of the regular 6pm.

They had some special tours involved in the programme as well, but we wanted to begin with the regular exhibition. The museum is set up very well. The walls are colourful, which I found a little bit energizing compared to some museums with white hospital-like walls. The art itself is obviously amazing. And it was all connected to Van Gogh’s life story. This story was organized into different eras of his creation and the exhibition ran through three floors. His creation and his life story pulled us in so strongly that we had barely finished with the first floor when there was an announcement about the museum closing in 30 minutes. Everyone had just been too mesmerized to check the time. Thus, we stopped staring at Van Gogh’s Sunflowers and hurried through the rest of the two floors. Basically we just wanted to walk through all the rest of it, but we still had to stop at places to read some parts of his life story, or take more time to look at some paintings, or listen to the audio versions of his famous letters to his brother. Again, the whole experience inspired me to think more about creation, to seek out for it and to try to create more myself. Dance, words, dance!

We took a moment to sit in the park next to the museum and then headed back towards the train station through the city. This walk lasted for almost an hour. The sky began getting darker and the colourful lights of Amsterdam began to stand out stronger. It was beautiful. It was beautiful to share these moments with these people. And we had so much fun. There were so many jokes that came up again and again during the day that I can’t even remember all of them anymore. It got even funnier when we got to the train. The four of us got to sit together in a four-seater, and we just kept on laughing. On the second train we had to split up a bit in two two-seaters, but both of the pairs were just smiling the whole time. Alena looked at Marcel and Aleksandra at some point and told me: “It’s like they’ve known each other for forever, but they only just met for the first time today.” And then I realized that all of these friends of mine – Alena, Marcel, and Aleksandra – are people who almost always get along with anyone. I told them that and we agreed that the four of us comprised a getting along superpower that night.

We got to Groningen around 2AM and spent maybe another 50 minutes in the train station just chatting along. It was also because that was the last moment I was going to see Aleksandra. At least for a long while. Jokes, memories, tears, hugs, a grouphug, a thank you and a “See you soon.”

The cleansing

Me, Alena, and Marcel walked to Marcel’s place so I could pick up my bike. I had all my suitcases at Marcel’s place, because it’s next to the train station and it would be easy to get them in the morning when I get on my bus to Berlin 10:40 in the morning. But I wasn’t going to stay there myself.

See, after a night out in April something started between me and Alena. Something casual. Spending time together every now and then. Taking it easy, not letting each other too close. Or was it me not letting her too close? I liked to listen more. But close to the end I felt safer to let her close, because I knew the circumstances would end whatever we had anyway.

After we got our bikes we cycled a little bit through Groningen. I always loved cycling through the city. Especially in the evenings. The city lights. The peaceful small streets with bricked Dutch houses. Or the buzzing city centre during party evenings. Observing these moments from the side brought some sort of peace and safety. “I love you, Groningen. And you’ve loved me back.”

Finally, we got to Alena’s place around 4AM. She had just moved there and she showed me the place around. Nice place, and it was just for the two of us. I had to go to Berlin the next day but it turned out that I actually still don’t have a place to stay there. Alena put some messages on their way to her German friends hoping that someone might offer me a place to stay for three nights.

And then we laid down in her bed, which is located under the ceiling. And we talked. And we cried. We talked about what people really want. About this search for the most perfect moment. This moment where you’ve once again pushed the limits of your emotions further than the last perfect moment. The search for this sort of perfect moment of love, which doesn’t only consist of the feeling of romantic love, but of the feeling of being accomplished, of being loved and of being loving yourself. And we cried. We talked about how we had stretched our last moments again and again. We had already said goodbye before, but then still found this trip to Amsterdam suitable for the both of us. And with this stretching I felt that I was stretching myself more and more open for her. And we cried. We talked about the things people are waiting for when thinking about getting committed to someone. The right time. The right place. The right foundation. And we cried. We talked about other people. I asked her if it’s fair to a previous person who is part of a series of special moments I have with different people if I connect with the next person through similar or even the same shared emotions as with the first person. Like if I am with someone and I tell them I like their smile a lot, but can’t be with that person because of life circumstances, and then move on to the next person and then also sincerely tell this next person that I like their smile. Is that fair? To either of them? To neither of them? And connecting to this, when does it become fair? If a year has passed? Or a month? A week? A day? I was worried about this, and about being unfair to her, but she just looked at me and said: “You are not more aware of this than I am.” This crushed me. In the very best way possible.

Awareness, and reflective thinking, especially in the form of writing appears to make a person seem conscious of their actions. Which again seems to create this feeling when looking at a conscious person that they intend good. Or that they are kind, or pure, or loving, or whatever. Which I strive to be. And which people have sometimes told me that I am. But what I wasn’t aware of is that this has made me think that I am more aware than other people. And this why Alena’s words crushed me. Because I am not. I am not more aware of things than her or anybody else. And we cried.

All of my experiences from the past 3 years were captured in the most beautiful way during that night. All the people. The shared moments. The love. We even laughed about how amazing it feels despite all the tears in our eyes. We laughed! And we cried. Until the sun started coming up. Until we decided to get out of bed and drink some tea. Until it was time to go to Marcel’s place and pick up my suitcases.

Obviously we had to hurry in the end. Just within minutes I had to give my suitcases to the bus driver and then hug my dear people for the last time during these three years. Just within minutes I had to leave their loving embrace and sit on the shitty bus of a cheap bus company and begin nine hours of traveling towards Berlin where I still didn’t have accommodation.

And I cried.

Last look on Groningen

I love to cry.
Don’t think I would lie.
It’s a form of letting go,
but all I’ve let go has brought a new hello.

It’s not about the years in life, it’s about the life in your years.
And letting go of more life will bring on more tears.
Tears tell me I’ve been in moments as much as I can:
“You’ve given your everything, Dan.”

Let go only to give your everything again,
time to push yourself to a new end.
To build up something bigger than ever before,
until you can’t hold onto it anymore.

I will let go, and don’t think I would lie.
I love to cry.