25

One of those virtual greeting cards with a page long insert which gets you up to speed on the sender's life.

Lately I've been much confused, worried, even scared at the prospect - or lack thereof - I may be faced with. Most of you know what I'm talking about, since not a phone call or an email goes by in which I don't voice these concerns of mine. Some of you say I should travel, see things my way, shake myself up a little. Some others point out how it's not all that bad and compared to most of my contemporaries, I'm in fact doing very well. There are the ones who see no problem at all and still more who have nothing but empathy towards my failed attempts at trying to relocate myself physically and psychologically. But I fear to admit that the problem, my troubles, may prove to be buried deeper than I cared initially to show. The dark may even become darker, the fog denser, my Sun may be blotted out leaving only a golden trail.

25. I never imagined anything for when I'd become 25. I don't really want to imagine anything for when I turn 35. Those ten years will whizz by sooner than I will care to admit. I remember my 15th birthday very clearly. It was in Prague, I got a green top with little flowers on it, dungarees shorts and a back pack. My mom's aunt was visiting and I had very few problems. Ten years have passed and I still have very few problems, but only because I've learnt how to deal with most of the things life threw at me. So the few problems I do have, they seem to hit the core of my existence. But there is a mature weight to this age. There is wisdom in traces, there is solid and honest sincerity and there is doubt to unravel the slowly meandering certainty. I don't know if I'm heading in the right direction, I don't know if my private life is running its predestined course or if my professional life holds any surprises. In fact, there is very little I know. I have started to settle for content when I should scratch and burn until I find happy. I have become lazy and complacent. I have entered a state of mind where moments present the only alternative to a numb void.

What is most worrying is that I have lost inspiration and a desire to create. When all else failed, I always had the words. Now the words seem to not care at all, not care enough. I leave them dormant at the depth of my soul's despair and with that, hope never surfaces either. They dine down there, together, silent. I toil up here, I sweat with fear of actions never taken or taken in vain. But the words stay unconcerned and even the music doesn't move them any more. They have slowly given up on me because I never let them shine. I have never given them the chance to bask in glory. I have never fought for them or fanned their vanity with careless hope. So they have turned from me, these conspiring little wiggles, lines, straight and bent. Now I'm on my own and on my own is where my road divides. And look at me, instead of choosing, I stand still.

I feel powerless, unable to hold a firm grip, unmoved, uninspired, weak, irresolute. I feel like I have no patience or determination to see anything through. I care so little that my days follow one another and nothing ever makes me fight or believe. I skim the surface. The books I read leave ideas unformed. The scenery that is all around me brings only momentary satisfaction. But the power to change lies in my hands and I fail to make progress. Continuous rejection has left me with little desire to run at full speed. I see my tired little life lean towards the comfortable and unchallening future. But my tearless crying shows me that this should not be where I end. Right now, things are bleak. I have no idea which direction to start walking in. I am scared of the unknown and scared to leave the known. I find myself in a trap and nobody has walked past who knew how to get out of the hole. And I have no elaborate plans.

So 25. Please don't ask me to list my successes. Tomorrow morning, on my birthday, I will wake up, it'll be a magnificent spring day, full of the Sun's hopeful rays spreading over the lands. I know that I will wake with confidence, with hope. I will walk amongst the buildings of the greatest historical importance. I will fall in love with this city all over again, as I did last spring. I will see the Danube wash its banks slowly and seamlessly away. The bridge will hold no secrets and the seagulls will circle around the part of the river where the ships have not moved. For a moment, for maybe even the better part of the day, all the doubts, the uncertainty, it will all be forgot.

Now everything around me is perfect, I see it as perfect, only I have not found my perfect, my endless, my humble way.

Home – from where once removed

“Come, sit here” he said, “little girl, look” pointing to the dark window, “this is the journey that you have once taken, that have lead you to where you are now. So sit patently and watch closely!” The man with kind eyes showed the smiley and unsuspecting girl to her seat on the empty train. She had embarked without knowing where the train would go or who she would encounter whilst on it. The magnificent engine just pulled out of nowhere, in her room, golden and red, inviting her with a curious murmur to take a look inside. The girl was standing on the steps, with her nightgown touching the floor, when the man reached for her hand from the top. Now she sat comfortably and was ready for what would be unveiled before her eyes.

They whizzed by hills and rivers, buildings of all sizes, houses empty and filled with love. There were bridges and pastures, chapels and cathedrals, slanted chimneys and solar panels. The brave moon was shining, lending light to the magnificent display of places once seen, free, and places would be in the future. The girl chuckled as the train hit a curve, the man sat beside her and pointed to each significant sight, adding his own commentary to the journey. Slowly each building became familiar to her. She pressed her nose against the window, breathing heavily, covering the view with steam along with every breath exhaled. The outside seemed cold, icy, but radiant from the early rays of the spring young sun.

Then she recognised the Vltava hurling towards the south right below their train. “This is how you can see the truth” said he who was still sitting beside her, towering over her like the most fail proof protection. The bridge that bore the name of Charles then took them from one familiar site to the other. The tracks of the trams were used to fly their train around and around the city. Inside the old town, outside the new town. Suddenly she saw what had once been. She saw her endless journeys from one end of the city to the other. She saw seasons change the scenery and her in them. She saw herself struggling with teenage idealism. Korunovacni. Parzizska. Vysocanska. Sokolovska. Suchdol. V Udoli. The people paraded onwards and the tears were streaming down her innocent cheeks. She saw her past and she saw the future and all at once she was in the past and in the present. “Don’t worry, you won’t be alone” he then placed his arm around the little girl. But there was nobody else on the streets with her. Nobody to sit beside her on a lonely, rainy day somewhere on Wenceslas square. But somehow the past had seemed joyful. She saw days filled with hope, places filled with dreams, herself as a lover filled with love. The all too familiar routes she took from places unimportant to home. Quietening warmth ran through her body as she watched the weightless snow fall to the road, free of asphalt, just outside the forest, her forest. Every memory then soon followed and she stared out the window hoping to catch a glimpse of every scene enacted in the past, in real time, in the future. She felt herself free, happy. She also felt her heart ache from the void of love. She felt her stomach tighten into a knot when she could feel the end near, when she could see that once she would forget what it all felt like. Dread came over her as she faced feeling like a stranger in her own town. “Have to learn to love the flawed” said the man. She knew that what he had meant was that life was flawed and nothing in the present could change the past. The past remains as flawless as we dream it to be. The present stays as flawed as we can bear it to be. The future is too close to place distance between things done and consequences not yet mature.

The lights of the city grew ever smaller. She was ready to get off, to change the past, to live the once had, but he was firm in holding her hand. “Here comes the next one soon, just sit tight and you’ll see it will all be all right”.