There was that meeting with M. on King’s day on which he and his friend did balloons. We made hamburgers in their Airbnb home and they described some women who we would meet up with later that night by their looks. I just sat there, wondering how they would describe me, out of my hearing. It was busy and Amsterdam was red and crowded. We talked about the dreams we had given up on and the burden of family. I realized we had never been friends.
There was this artist who in an interview said “why would anyone NOT feel like they belong?” I wanted that feeling, but for a long time it was as if I was separated from, unable to participate. I was aware of the problem, but it didn’t help. My solutions weren’t solutions. They were promises that posed as answers. I wondered later, did I even want it solved?
Tosca Mitkowska 