Too many thougths on the fabulous past and on the shitty presence, too many photos seen on facebook, too many cool messages and e-mails received, too many blogs of people who are still there read, too many people left and voilà, here I go again. I have a harsh comeback of Moroccan nostalgy. It's been [only/already] 3 weeks and I have kind of accepted that I am not there anymore but I can't be as happy as I used to be there. I was deeply involved in all the stuff that I need to do here before going to Brussels and trying not to think but it's simply impossible.
Especially when you get messages like this:
"I wish you were still here though your ghost still floats around Rabat."
"All is well here, but the echo around the town and around the Kingdom is that you are sadly missed."
"You are lucky my love, you are remembered and loved by so many here..."
I am still in Rabat but not anymore there... and I really doubt anyone (at least here in this country called Poland) can understand me.
My house was just a few steps left from the minaret (the tower of the mosque) ...
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