Three weeks ago my plane took off from Buenos Aires, and I was on my way back to Europe, back to my old life, a new apartment, old friends, a (nearly) new job…

I was functioning pretty much on autopilot, without thinking too much, without even being too melancholic.

Last week was my first nearly full week at work. It is still a bit improvised.

I have a new office – on the sunny side of the building after being in the shadow for more than 9 years – but there is not much more than a PC, scissors, a stapler, a calendar, post-it’s and two pens.

And a French AZERTY Keyboard – which drove me mad until IT switched it to an English one, after I managed to lock me out of all applications on the first day by creating new complicated passwords on a FR keyboard while thinking it was an EN one…

The office is being split up in two for now, they are inserting a wall, so I moved to an empty office to avoid the hammering and drilling.

I kind of don’t remember much of the first week. I have no problem waking up early, shortly before 8, and be on my way to the office to arrive around 8.30. My new apartment is in a perfect location a 10 minutes walk from work.

I had what seemed like an endless stream of coffees and lunch dates with a couple of colleagues.

And even more quick encounters in the corridors, that inevitably follow an established patten.

– ‘You’re back!’ – Yeah.
– ‘Since when?’ – First of April.
– ‘And how was your trip…?’

Mmmh, how am I ever supposed to answer that question, in a corridor, in a 30 seconds encounter….? When I feel I packed 5 years of experiences into a year and a half, and now have to sum it up. Impossible.

Don’t get me wrong, my colleagues mean well, and it’s small talk, I know.

There will be time to talk about it more in-depth.

But after the 20th encounter of the sort I just wanted – and did – close my door and hid in the office. I had lunch by myself.

I don’t know how I feel.
I don’t know how it is to be back.
I don’t know how much I like it.
I’m processing.

Back home, I have made some progress in turning my boxed life into a livable apartment again, to some extend. It actually turns out nice, and I have even hung a few of my frames on random nails in the wall.

Though, funnily, here again I have started to hide out in my apartment. There are many friends in Brussels that I haven’t even contacted yet to tell them I’m back.

I guess I am avoiding that very same talk I’ve been having for the last three weeks.

I focus on the task of finding my stuff and getting some order into my life – wondering why I have so many things left, after I thought I had given away most of it before leaving.

I guess this task helps me to focus on something and not become too caught up in myself.

I haven’t seen many friends yet, and even the closest ones I have hardly met more than once.

I haven’t gone out much, not at all after work, even though spring seems to be back, with warm temperatures, the evening sun shining on the terraces full with people enjoying their after-work beers.

I don’t know why, but I feel like a need a bit of solitude.

I don’t want to talk much. I didn’t have someone to talk to for much of my day in the past 18 months – now I’m back at work and there’s constantly someone to talk to. I find that I’m no longer used to that.

Then I have my darker moments. When I’m sad. When I miss it all, this crazy journey. When I don’t wan’t to reach out to friends, who would sure be there to talk to me or cheer me up.

In these moments I want to meet another traveler. I long to meet someone who has been out there, far out. Who knows where I have been, and understands without me saying anything.