Green swamp frog

Where on earth is this coming from all of a sudden? I know, I know. I’m asking myself the same thing. Where have I been hiding these past months? What has been so urgent, so much of a priority that I have abandoned this blog for many a winter and spring month? Nothing much to tell you perhaps. A journey of looking for a job in Valencia, taking on jobs in Belgium and Portugal then finding one in Valencia and ultimately combining all of them. Life in a nutshell.

Anyway. I’m back! In Belgium and on the blog. My childhood home just got sold so I’m enjoying one last longer trip down Memory Lane before I have to hand in my forever (not-so-forever) key. It’s strange. Stranger than I thought it would be. To know I won’t have a home base in Belgium anymore is making me feel all the feels. I’m excited, because the end of a chapter means the start of a new one. I’m sad, because this really feels like cutting ties with my home town and land.

Indulging in sunny days in the garden, taking in all the green and birdsong. The sweetness of wild strawberries, the salt of goodbyes. The 'enjoying everything way too much because it’s ending, so I’m doubting whether I actually want this to be the last time'. Dreamy plans of doing it all again in a few months time. The cherries of my neighbour's tree are ripening while I’m writing this. I’m that slow and they are that plump dark red I’m getting distracted whenever I glance over my laptop.

The combination of the Belgian obsession with good weather and the nostalgia of my childhood home being sold asks for all the old time plans happening in the garden. I’m basically living in the garden. This might be the very last time I have a garden. So we’re doing garden dinners, garden wine, garden deep talks, garden dances, garden poetry, garden siesta, garden sleepovers. I’m dreaming garden dreams.

The green lushness really gets me. Already on the train ride from the airport I swooned over the vibrant green everywhere outside of the window. The thing I miss in Valencia, as a little swamp frog who thrives in forests and obsesses over moss, mud, rivers, mushrooms, is exactly that. The green stuff. Belgian spring is quenching that thirst, and it brings me this nice peace of mind I don’t think Belgium has ever been able to give me. It’s always like that, isn’t it? Knowing there’s an end to something makes you appreciate and enjoy it more. Even my good old boring little hometown. Who would have thought?