All inclusive

It surprises me again and again. It creates slideshows from my photos on its own, unasked and uninvited. My laptop. It invents themes and titles like “In the mountains 2016-2019” and “Back then – 23rd of December 2013”. Sometimes events are put together that under the melody also arbitrarily chosen by the laptop – at first glance have nothing to do with each other. The sound carpet mixes other moods again and lets me fly to distant countries, to other continents. My heart travels with me in my hand luggage.

No, the memories are not always pleasant, often the sight of a loved one who no longer exists in my life hurts. And I sigh. Deeply. But much more often my heart leaps – into the past “back then”, into exuberant joy. Because of being in love. Due to bliss, to be far away from Vienna and its grumpy inhabitants.

Travelling. All inclusive. Not immediately holding a perfumed handkerchief to your mouth and nose when the smells of an Indian slum permeate your train compartment. Not averting the eyes when an alcoholic beggar holds out his hand in front of a supermarket in Cape Town. Drinking heavily sweetened, peppery-tasting coffee Touba in Dakar. Learning to love it. Letting my bare feet feel the ice-cold stones of a stream in northern India. Listening to Kwaito, South African hip-hop music, letting myself be carried away by it. Dancing. Feeling when others need help. And when it is time to say “no”.

Perceiving the “foreign” as foreign with all senses. I look forward to the time when travelling will be possible again. No “holidays by the pool”. Instead, immerse myself in “foreign” cultures. Gasping for breath. Cursing. Sweating. Withstanding noise. Salty sea air in the nose. Watching. Writing. Sunburn. Seeing crying and laughing faces, those to remember will make one survive. Until then, I am grateful for the pictures on my laptop.