Schiphol, Holland

I passed the land covered in grey and white. It was beautiful. I saw windmills, two or three small ones standing high on snow. "I don't belong here", I didn't know why I said so to myself. I was not sure if I belong to anywhere. I came back to A'dam from Paris, being happy to come back to a place like home. But do I really belong to Holland? No. I'm probably just a nomad, like my friends, like me.

I saw my friend off from Schiphol today. My manager after hearing me saying about her saying she's a refugee, the girl who lived 6 years in the US, now living in Finland and on that day, she went to Belgium from Holland but came back to A'dam to go to Paris on her holiday of visiting me. And other friends of mine who have stayed here for years now are going to America, for an indefinite time.

If I didn't have my boyfriend, if I didn't have the person to each other we belong to, I don't know if I can stay here. Sometimes, it questions me if a relationship got better because two people really need each other when they live abroad, in a place where they don't have a lot of friends to hang around, to talk and share things with.

Like yesterday, I was wondering if I am a happy person to find happiness in snowing but warm A'dam rather than in gorgeous Paris with my boyfriend and my best friend, but in a place I'm not used to, a place I don't prefer. I love people, but I love me. Both, so much sometimes that it feels like a sin.

I don't know, sometimes I write when I feel like I'm lost.