So as it turns out, the ash cloud coming from Eyjafjallajökull did end up lengthening my trip abroad. It’s one of those instances where I’m in complete awe that something this random has such a major impact on everyday life. I’m really one of the few lucky people for whom this ash cloud was sort of a good thing, seeing as it’s given me almost an extra week with ma beau and a fair excuse to skip out on school (although I don’t feel too great gloating about that, heh).
Anywho, I’ll soon be on a flight back to rainy old Belgium, which I hear is having a nice bout of prettyweather-itis. I’ll be pretty darn pissed off if it starts raining again, though. But what I’m getting really excited about is the well-grounded prospect of going back home to Venezuela for the summer. It’s funny how it goes all year round, how I’m super reluctant to plan a trip there knowing that my klutziness will make it hard for me to cross them lawless streets, that the inflation makes handling money a complete headtrip for me, that I worry about safety and stomach bugs and 10-hour flights and fret about not being able to speak Spanish properly, blahblah. And then I remember the warm sidewalks, the faded shirts and baseball caps, the bright green that’s really the only shade of green that plants know over there, the cracked roads and palm trees by the seaside, the mountains that don’t surround me anywhere anymore, the people whose faces should never be mistaken for any other anywhere else. It’s what I am and what I carry, what I should never lose sight of and never disconnect myself from.
Yeah. Whatever them ash clouds allow.
