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Jetlag life

When Mexican dreams turn into Belgian white nights, lying wide awake thinking of going out for a very early breakfast of chilaquiles or a late mezcal to wash the jetlag out of my body. Reality hits when I rub the blur out of my eyes, trying to escape this haze I've been living in: half asleep, half awake, never really there. Maybe jetlag needs to take over my life to give me a soft landing. From the land of coloured houses and smiling faces to the land of grey.

Still, I'm happy to be home. For as long as I can call this place home. Belgium is filled with family and friends, and so are all countries I travel to. Home is everywhere. Everything is temporary anyway, so it feels good to keep moving. I tried to stay in one place once, hoping it would bring me peace of mind. It didn't work out. I wore anxiety like a jacket I could never take off. I needed to book a flight to the other side of the world to find the peace of mind I was looking for.

As soon as I got on the plane, all fears faded away. I realised more than ever that this is my comfort zone: the road, the travels, waking up without a clue of what the day might bring and where I will rest my head at night. This has always been what makes me feel free, and it still does. When will it stop? When will I start to enjoy settling down and living a life of routine? Always the same questions, always the same answer. (Checking flights back to Mexico as we speak.)

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