the untranslatable

Oh, I confess. I have been shamelessly neglecting this blog. Oh, and I repent. It's been a long time. The project with the brats has been cancelled. Neither were they really interested nor could they muster up the courage to give it a go anyways. Thus, more free-time and less theatre for me.
The reasons for me absence: manifold. October was a busy month. Finally, I went to uni again, and I loved it. Danny came over for a few days and I showed him around in Dresden. That was the last time I really drank alcohol, for some days after he left, I fell ill and it turned out that I caught a neat, little virus that caused hepatitis - now, I have to wait until my liver gets better. The doctors told me to refrain from anything that might be physically exhausting - obviously, they've left uni quite a while ago.
Other than still feeling tired, no news here. Well, I sort of mull over old friendships and acquaintances and come to the conclusion that there are few people left who really mean something, anything to me. Which I will take down as good and bad at the same time. My oldest friend, she never gets in touch. And I wonder, now that I 'forgot' her birthday (due to being in hospital), what is there between us other than an old bond of friendship long past its prime? A reminiscence of what once was and will never be again. We do not live in the same town anymore. We do not share the same circle of friends anymore. We do not have the same interests anymore. In short: we're living world's apart. And yet I am somewhat reluctant to do the most straightforward, honest thing: to say good-bye, thank her for what we were allowed to share and move on. I let it sleep; partly out of fear, partly out of nostalgia for a world that is now, with the death of my father, lost to me once and for all.
The Untranslatable, Heimat, home and a place where you belong wherever life might take you, is lost. She was the last link. She is the last link. And I feel sad, for even though I do not want to go back to where I came from, even though I despise this small-town life in the midst of small-town minds, the pettiness and squareness of things, even though... I still somehow did treasure the fact that I could have gone back, at least for day. Now, there is no place to stay, no tales of known places being told, no nothing. And I feel I am floating, drifting through this world, no strings attached. It is what I always wanted, what I longed for since I awoke from my childhood's dreams and took in with bewilderment the world that surrounded me. Now that I am finally there, the rejoicing in my new-found 'freedom' won't come so easily. I cherish my situation, I am well aware that now there is nothing, no one to hold me back, that my obligations are minimal... and still - naturally so, I think - there is also a feeling of loss, of ending, of letting go what once was part of me and is no longer. I realize I am cut off from what used to be my life-line, my last resort. The responsibility that goes with that still feels weird - in a good kind of way, an important kind of way, yes - but it can also be frightening at times.
Letting go and leaving behind - I always thought I was good at it. And probably I am, in a twisted and absurd kind of way. Few people I know cast away acquaintances or friends with as light a heart as I do. However, and this I realize only now, they hardly ever meant a thing to me - or if they did, I just brushed it off lightly and didn't think of it again. I know that life goes on, and I vowed to myself I'd keep up with it. This, however, is different. This is the last link to where I come from, where I've grown up, the last link to the group of friends that influenced me most.
I sort of came to the conclusion to write her a letter; in fact I already did. All I am waiting for is to find a good present for Christmas, and then this said present together with a not-so-christmassy letter will be off to Marburg. Or to her home address, maybe. If she gets in touch, so be it. If not, then I will say my good-byes quietly and on my own. Have a drink on her for the sake of old times, and enjoy the current that will take me where to I do not know. She's the last of the old tribe. She's the last who knew me before I had the chance to leave anything behind. I know she has always eyed my way with suspicion and maybe also a bit of fear – not that my way of living a life deviated from the ordinary, at least not that I am aware. I am curious as to how far old bonds reach.
There's a faint sense of sadness lingering in the air these days, but I feel this is okay. No damage done, no gashes here, no battles won.