Have A Little Faith


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January 13th 2014
Published: January 13th 2014
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Have you ever ask yourself what was the real reason behind all your travels? Is there a deeper meaning hidden behind the obvious? I always had a tendency to run away. It is so easy to deny the truth. It is so easy to pretend you ain't scare, pretend over everything. I always liked my drinks, not that I need it, but life always seemed simpler after a few consummations. From when I remembered, I always wanted to leave my small town, I thought nothing could be achieved in that hole I didn't choose to grow up in. I first moved out of my parents' place. I didn't go far, I moved 10 minutes away from their place. Everyone at college were wondering why, but my closest friends were not making a big deal of it. They were noticing the big smile on my face and none of them wanted to be the one bursting my bubble they recall. They all knew this state was not made to last, it was to fragile to last. After all, they all knew why I was doing it ... well they thought they knew. Myself I had no idea. Obviously, it didn't last. I felt in love and thought it was made to be. I was 18 and would have fallowed her anywhere. She was perfect, she was from somewhere else and wanted to go far, start new. We had no money, but we were dreaming. We thought we could do anything as long as we really wanted it. I was wrong all the way, but right that time. We had fun, we didn't care. Responsibilities and reason could wait, the train of life was passing by really fast and there was no way we were not boarding it. You probably know what happen next. I made most of my biggest mistake during that period of time that felt like eternity, but was in fact only a few years long. I had so much fun. Everyday was special and every night was an adventure waiting to happen. I met loads of people and let another bunch down. Below is the story of a normal kid who wasn't sure where he belonged.

I went down south. We drove and drove, seasons changed and then people changed. I learned new languages and people changed again. I stopped driving and started walking. I reached a point where I didn't even knew the answers to where I was from. I think I knew, but didn't bother answering anymore. One morning I look into the mirror and wasn't convince of who was in front of me. I liked that guy. He looked sure of himself, proud of what he done and confident of what was next. I was jealous of my own shadow and then I flew for the first time. I remember We gained speed and my heart stopped beating. I stared outside the window, looking without seeing. I thought I was dying and I woke up. A new man was born on that plane and that feeling was my new drug. We landed, I picked my backpack and started walking again. To be honest in the next few days, months, years, I walked, ran, swam, biked, hitchhiked, rolled to drunk to understand what was going on, etc. ... until that day.

I woke from some of the most intense partying I ever experienced. I felt like shit. I kept my feelings to myself has I went down to the lobby. In the last few weeks, my drug wasn't as powerful as it used to be. I sat down at a half full table and started eating the same breakfast I been eating for years now. The lads beside me started asking me questions. I answered with the most unsocial answered I could have though off. I didn't feel like telling them the same shit story I was bragging about lately as soon as I was meeting new people and a drink was making its way to my hands. The guys left, not that you and I really care about it, but a girl made her way to my table. She had long blond hair and blue eyes. She wore small glasses and a white dress. She spoke with a soft voice, but was always going straight to the point. Where are you from, she asked. Again that question. I answered her back I didn't know. She rolled her eyes and said really?!? I answered, everywhere! And she smiled. I smiled back and she said bye and walked away. I watched her joined her friend and them pointing in my direction. At that moment, my friends sat to my table and urged me to finally moved out from the hostel and do something of my day.

As we walked out, my mate, who was traveling with me for a few weeks told me he had plans for us tonight. I asked him what were those plans and he told me a band from home was playing tonight in a super small concert hall. I asked him who they were and he told me it was Misteur Valaire. He added he thought they were from my hometown. I can't tell you what happen in the next few hours. I remember being in a biergarten in the Tiergarden. Drinking a beer with some mates of my friend. I wasn't speaking much. I was lost into my thoughts. I always love that park. I always like Berlin. It reminded me a lot of myself, half broken, a bit of a teen. For the first time in years, I was thinking of my hometown. I wondered how my mates from way back were doing. I wondered if my parents missed me. I was lost like never, when I heard them raise their voices. Are you alright, they said. I knock my head up and down and finished my beer. I stood up, which kind of surprise them, and told them to get ready we were going to that concert.

We stopped at the market on our way and grabbed a few beers. We were drinking them one after the other in front of the concert hall, waiting for the gate to open. When they opened, we were the first one to enter the club. We sat at the bar and ordered more liquid. I turned to my friend and told him I was in high school at the same time as the guys from the band. I remembered some basketball games and a night at a talent show where some of them was performing. I never thought I would be buying tickets to see them in Berlin. I put my glasses down and walked up to the stage. I was two or three meters away from them when they started their gig. I never took the time to listen to their stuff before. I was busy running around the world trying to know it all and never took the time to see what was done right in front of my nose. The lads were running from one instrument to the other. I don't know what I thought was the most beautiful that night, them running around and killing themselves making everything look perfect even though they were thousand of miles away from their market or their actual music.

I stood their all concert, looking through my sunglasses, lost in the music into something deeper. When the concert finished, most people made their way out, but some went to the stage to talk to the guys. I couldn't resist and walk straight to one of them and told them they were OK for a small band from a small town in Quebec. My friends were not to impressed by my comments, but one of the members started laughing and shook my hand. He started asking me why I knew where they were from and I told them where I was from. We started talking, but security fast came to told us we had to leave. The lads told us to wait for them downstairs and they will come have some drinks with us when they were done. We waited and they took us to a small bar close by. We bought some drinks and sat there and talked for quite a while of about everything, but mostly of my hometown. We left and I never met any of the guys from the band again. Since then, they released a new album and won a bunch of awards, but made a little guy from a small town proud of where he was from once again. And the girl at the hostel, well she came back the next morning, I never knew her name, but when she asked me where I was from again, I answered.

I pictured you in the sun wondering what went wrongAnd falling down on your knees asking for sympathyAnd being caught in between all you wish for and all you seenAnd trying to find anything you can feel that you can believe in

Nick

Misteur Valaire : http://mv.mu/

Photo credit @Peckenzo

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13th January 2014

Coming or going
Interesting story. Running from or heading to..... memories of home and a life well lived.
14th January 2014

il est tard et j'ai envie de parler...
Oui, moi aussi je me suis souvent demandé pourquoi je ressentais tant le besoin de voyager, tout le temps. Dès que je rentre, après quelque temps je ne tiens plus en place, je pense déjà à la prochaine destination. Je ne viens pas d'une petite ville. Je suis née à Paris et j'ai grandi en très proche banlieue parisienne. Et pourtant, j'ai le sentiment que Paris est trop petite pour moi. Trop vieille. Trop statique. Il manque quelque chose ici. Je ne sais toujours pas quoi, mais je sais que ce n'est pas ici. Je crois qu''en fait c'est un moyen de s'enfuir. Parce que si c'est tout ce qu''il y a, grandir, travailler, acheter une maison, si la vie se limite vraiment à ça, ce serait insupportable. Il doit y avoir autre chose. Je crois que c'est ça qu''on cherche quand on voyage. On veut comprendre ce qu'est cet autre chose qui nous manque. Mais j'ai aussi l'impression qu''à force de voyager, on se perd. Comme tu le dis, parfois quand les gens vous demandent d'où vous venez, vous ne savez plus quoi répondre. Où est ma maison? Où est ce que je me sens chez moi? Est ce que c'est un endroit? Ou un état d'esprit? Parfois j'ai le sentiment de n'être moi même que quand je suis loin de la maison. Peut être que c'est parce les gens me rappellent constamment, consciemment ou pas, que je n'ai pas l'air française, que je viens d'ailleurs. Alors qu'en fait, c'est en France que j'ai grandi. Du coup maintenant quand on me demande d'où je viens, je ne réponds plus. J'évite. Je ne sais pas d'où je viens, je ne sais pas où je vais, mais je suis sûre d'une chose: c'est ailleurs.
14th January 2014

Je suis tout a fait d'accord! I could write pages after pages about that subject.
15th January 2014

I might...
Well, this entry might trigger some questions on my mind about my reasons for travelling, but what I am sure is that regardless the reason, everytime I travel, I feel free and when I go back to the place I travelled from, I have new thoughts and unconsciously make some changes in my projects. Thanks for taking me to Sophie's World :) Nice

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