
We were told to write a letter to ourselves before we went. Something that would be waiting for us upon our return. I thought I would absolutely remember what was in that letter but it turned out, that after I had gotten back to Germany I would actually have forgotten even writing it. I was so surprised by my past-me’s writing, urging me: Not to forget M.
My then-boyfriend and first love. The reason why I had cried so heavily at the airport. Ironically he had been the one who had forgotten.
For a long time, I had thought, this is what leaving does. Move your feet, lose your seat. There’s no towel you can throw on a person to reserve them for a later date.
It had hurt to read my past self’s wishes. My dreams and hopes. I remember sitting there in my yellow T-shirt, with the Thai monastery symbol stitched neatly onto it. Yellow – the colour of King Bhumibol Adulyadej. It was the 60th anniversary of his ascent to the throne that year we lived in Thailan…