I’m sitting in a restaurant at the beach on Koh Phangan, Thailand, I’m tired, sunburned, heartbroken and happier than ever. Looking back on the the last six months, I’ve come to realize that those were the best ones of my life. Seeing all those amazing places, meeting so many wonderful people, feeling the greatest emotions. Every single day was special, the good ones and the not-so-good ones, and every day is important.
The thought of going home in a month from now tears me apart. I can’t imagine myself living in Germany right now, having a proper, steady life, no night-long bus rides, no cuddling with beautiful strangers on rainy days in hostel beds, no weird foods. I stopped missing my friends. I still love them, but I also love the people I meet, that turn into friends so quickly. There’s nothing waiting for me back home. I’m 20 years old, I still got a whole life ahead of me. Another year won’t hurt no one.
I’m thinking about just not taking my flight at the 8th of April, but spending another two months traveling Malaysia and Indonesia and going to Australia after to work for a year. Everyone back home will be so disappointed, I already told all my friends and family I’m coming home. But it feels so wrong.