home is in your head

I didn’t go to the Rijksmuseum when I was in Amsterdam. I also didn’t go on a canal cruise, or to the Van Gogh Museum, or the Anne Frank House. And I didn’t smoke weed or visit a sex shop.

Instead, I found myself in the Oude Kerk—the oldest building in Amsterdam—at a traveling collection from the Museum of Broken Relationships. And surprisingly, reading the stories of others’ heartaches made my heart ache a bit less. I needed the reminder that sadness and loneliness and betrayal and insecurity are universal feelings—but so are love and passion and excitement.

We are all the same, and I think the international assortment of first cherished and then discarded objects is proof. And me? Maybe this trip is the perfect time for me to think through my collection of old teddy bears and mix CDs and oversized clothing and words, so many words. Given that my pack maxes out at about 15 kilos, I don’t think I have room for all this baggage to keep weighing me down anymore.



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