I said last week I would start re-reading myself in all I’ve written and I’m glad to say that I have done so (not only proving for once and for all that I am not illiterate, but also that I do as I promise). It was a strange experience to do so too, in the sense that much of what I’ve written made me recall perfectly the mood I was in and the emotions I was feeling at the time of writing (which, I guess, is the whole idea with any journal or type of diary; to remember). I am not hiding the fact that tears were leaving my eyes at certain points (there goes my macho image…) which was actually more relieving than stress-inducing. I used to say – more than a year ago – that I was unable to cry and that I hadn’t cried for many years. It is key to my ever-developing persona in this world that it is something I have learnt to do all over again. Cropping up has made space for letting go.
And I read. And read. After finishing this, I went to my written journal before I stowed it away in the box I have now sent back home to Belgium via sea post. And I read. Looking at myself in a third person perspective, the way a video game player controls his character (my alltime favourite character is George Stobbart from the Broken Sword games). The written one proved more difficult to read, not so much because of my handwriting (since I had had to switch to ballpoint pens instead of the fountain pen I can write legibly with) but because of what I was reading. Things I had forgotten, minute descriptions of vague actions or events, details that caught my eye, sneeky things I could only trust to myself.
And then there was nothing more to read. I dried my eyes, sealed the box and took it to the post office. I now have a new more compact journal for the rest of my trip. I paid the 97 dollars to get it put on a boat to my home address. I will read it again in three months time. I stepped outside, called to a New Zealand vaccination clinic to make an appointment for Friday to get vaccinations for Thailand and Hongkong, and I went off to a sushi place. They were only preparing for their noon rush (it was about 10.30) but they were willing to help me get the rolls I desired. As I got home and started eating them, I noticed how good they were: creamy rice, plenty of fresh ingredients and full of flavour.
And that, my friends, was the best sushi I ever had.
A tear escaped and I went off to get some sleep.
Tim van den Oudenhoven 