3 days. 72 hours. 4320 minutes. That’s more or less how much there is left for my feet to be on Belgian soil. (I may or may not post this article exactly at the same time my flight leaves this Tuesday in order for the numbers to be correct.)
It’s been a hectic one and a half week since my last post. I finished my last resit ,which I think went well *knocks on wood*, said see/talk to you later (depending on possible visits) to pretty much everyone I meet in my daily life, packed and repacked my suitcases, hugged my mum, booked an extra suitcase (sorry not sorry), met up with some of the best people in the whole wild world, tidied up my room, had a small fight with my brother (I can’t stand him at times, but I love him all the time anyway), crossed of a to-do list full of boring tasks that come with living in a bureaucratism-loving country such as Belgium, checked my suitcase again, did some last minute shopping, gave some more until-Christmas-hugs,… You get the gist.
So what is happening now? In this moment, I’m recovering from the ridiculously long crying session I just had with my mum because I’m a total mummy’s girl and I already miss her after 2 days of staying with friends. Less literally, today I’m driving my packed-to-the-rim suitcases, my brother and I to my dad’s, where I’m saying some more ciao’s to friends and family until my dad drives Javier and me to the airport. (Btw, you can do the math: the flight leaves at 9 o’clock in Charleroi, my dad lives in Hasselt. Alarm clocks were made for ungodly hours I suppose.)
The next time you read this blog, the post will have travelled all the way from my mind in Madrid to wherever you are. Isn’t that an enticing idea? (I’m a little bit terrified but mostly a whole lot of exited.)
Madrid, here I come!
P.S.: The featured picture shows both mine and Javier’s suitcases, and my lovely life companions: Koko and Fantito. Can’t go travel and live in another country without them, now can I?