Colophon

Copyright © Your Journey

Author: Joyce van Ombergen-Jong

Editorial and final editing: Maaike Schneiders

Translation: Robin Jong & Abbi Gough

Final English editing: Robin Jong & Sophie Besselaar

First print 2023

Design cover and interior: Lotte Prins and Robin Jong

Illustrations: Lotte Prins

Photo author: Robin Jong

No part of this publication may be reproduced, by printing, photocopying, computerized data files or by any other means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

ISBN 9789083064475

NUR 285

www.joycevanombergen.com

www.yourjourney.academy

The characters in this book have been made up by me; any resemblance to places, events, and persons (whether or not in spirit form) is purely “coincidence”.

I dedicate this book to my son Dave and my daughter Robin.

They have held up a beautiful mirror to me since birth in which I can see reflected the purest version of myself.

In addition, I dedicate it to my husband Joost who unconditionally believes in both me and my dreams, and helps me to make them my reality.

On my own I am already 100% happy, but with ‘mi familia’; a hundred times more!

They know how much I love them.

- 1 -

I wake up with a throbbing headache which mercilessly reminds me of the fact that last night got a little too exciting. With my mantra being ‘we only graduate once,’ I allowed myself to be persuaded by my friends to take shots. I now regret that decision more than anything.

Why didn’t I listen to that little voice in my head, warning me not to do it?

Quite simply, I wanted to forget everything. Graduating seems like a very nice idea, but then not knowing what to do next? I can tell you that’s a lot less fun. I feel like all my friends already know what they want to do after our Graphic Design education: Marly has been accepted by the art academy, Dylan is in the middle of the admission procedure for teacher training, and Isa is going to travel the world. And me? I really haven’t got the faintest idea! At this point, I’m basically doubting everything and it’s driving me crazy. I have spent days on end surfing the internet, filling in one dull quiz after the other, without making any progress. At school they aren’t really helping either. ‘Just go work,’ reacted my teacher when I finally shared my doubts with him. ‘After all, you are trained in a profession’. Brilliant answer, but working will always be an option, and I don’t quite feel that I’m done with studying just yet. There is so much more I want to learn, but what? My mother asks me every other day if I have decided yet, which doesn’t help much either. My dad doesn’t say anything, but I can hear him thinking. It’s so irritating. On top of that, I was blessed with a brother who has known what he wanted since he was young and is already working hard to make that dream come true. ‘Why does everything have to be so complicated with you, sis?’ was his reaction when I, in a momentary lapse of reason, confided in him. So, he won’t help either. The only person who reacted well was my aunt. I feel like she is the only one who doesn’t judge me, the only one who truly listens. She admits that she doesn’t have everything figured out all the time either. And, not unimportant, I have a lot of fun with her. She knows how to lighten up the most serious of subjects in such a pleasant way - a true art form if you ask me. Should I send her a message to ask for advice? That seems like a pretty good idea. Why didn’t I think of that earlier? My aunt has helped me out with important moments like this in my life before.

With her, I feel at ease. I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not.

The only problem is that she has a busy job and she has got a lot on her plate right now, so to go bother her with my problems might be a bit selfish. On the other hand, she has told me so many times not to make decisions for her or assume she doesn’t want to hear it.

If she doesn’t have time for my problems, it’s up to her to tell me that. She is responsible for keeping an eye on her boundaries, which is what she has always told me. I can learn a lot from her. Did I mention she’s my favourite aunt? Okay, let’s shower first, make an anti-hangover breakfast, and make sure the fog in my head clears. I am suddenly hungry for a fried egg with bacon, so now let’s just hope my brother hasn’t eaten them all. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. I grab the softest bath towel I can find and turn on the tap, letting the water start to warm up. I carefully choose a body wash that I know will help me get back onto my feet. I step into the shower and close my eyes. After a couple of minutes, I start to relax. The warm water on my head and body does me good, and the amazing scent of the body wash does even more. I let the alcohol and the worrying thoughts wash off of me until I feel that I can take on the day. Then I dry myself and get dressed. On to the bacon and eggs!

Is it me or is my headache already a lot less intense than when I woke up?

Maybe I can manage without paracetamol today, which would be nice because I’m not a fan of it. I think it shows weakness to use painkillers for hangover ailments. In my head, I hear my dad say: ‘A man by night, a man by day!’ As far as he’s concerned, this also applies to women. Secretly I agree with him, though I’ll never admit that. I tend in fact, to the disappointment of my mother, to disagree with him by default - especially during discussions in which we both think we are right, things can get heated between us. I sometimes feel sorry for my mother, but I can’t seem to break the habit. Sorry mom!

Fortunately, she generally remains quite calm. I have a feeling this is because when she was little she wasn’t allowed to discuss with her sister (my grandparents saw every discussion as a fight).

I brush my teeth and comb through my wet hair with a brush. I’m not in the mood for a hot blow dryer or too much hassle today so I’m done quickly. One last look in the mirror above the sink tells me that a little make-up wouldn’t hurt. I quickly cover up my eyebags with concealer and powder, put on some mascara and lip gloss - that will have to do for today. I probably won’t come across a lot of people today. Otherwise, my sunglasses are my best friends.

Walking into the kitchen I bump into my tall-ass brother. As usual he doesn’t say anything, or does he actually growl something like a greeting this time? That guy is always suffering from a morning mood. I ignore him and open the fridge. Amazingly, he hasn’t only left me alone, but also the eggs and bacon. After breakfast I feel a little bit better. Today I don’t have to work, so the day is all mine. I pick up my phone to check if I have any new messages. A text from my aunt: ‘Hey my dear niece, how are you? xx your favourite aunt.’ What a coincidence, I was just wanting to text her! ‘Honest answer?’ I reply. ‘Yes, please!’ she writes. ‘Really just shit...’ I send back. No sooner have I sent the message, my phone rings. It’s good my brother has just walked out the kitchen, as now I can pick up in peace.

‘Sweetie, do you want to talk about it?’ sounds the familiar voice of my aunt on the other side of the line. Suddenly I start to get choked up and take a deep breath. ‘Yes, I think so, even though I don’t really know where to start,’ I say somewhat softly. ‘I’m free today, so if you want to we could meet up at the beach and you can tell me what’s bothering you?’ Before we hang up, we agree to meet up later that morning. A walk on the beach will do my hangover some good, as well as the bike ride there. I run upstairs to grab my bag and throw in my diary, a pen, earphones, and a bottle of water just in case. If I immediately head to the beach, I can get some coffee and peacefully do some writing if I want to. Writing always helps me get my thoughts in order and process things. I have filled countless diaries over the years. Obviously, I keep them in a secret place because I’m terrified that my brother will get his hands on them. I have an agreement with my mother that she is only allowed to read them if she is seriously worried about me, and genuinely afraid that I’m not going to make it without professional help. The funny thing is, when I need it most, I usually forget to write. There are often months between my writing sessions; any regularity is hard to find.

- 2 -

I pedal at a fast pace towards the beach and enjoy the wind in my hair and a little sun on my face. The summer is finally getting started and it’s my favourite season. Arriving at the beach, I park my bike against a fence and lock it with the ridiculously big heavy lock I bought recently. I have had two bikes stolen already (one of the “perks” of living in a city) and even though I know it’s part of it I still get really mad about it. People should just stay away from other people’s stuff. I climb the stairs that lead to the beach bar and see, to my relief, that it’s nice and quiet. This specific beach bar has been around for as long as I can remember and has been renovated a few times in recent years. In the past it was a basic kind of beach bar, where you could come for soft drinks, an ice cream, or some French fries. We used to come here with our family all the time such that it was very strange if we didn’t meet anyone we knew. I especially remember that after a long day at the beach I sat with my burnt buttocks on my father’s neck for the last stretch and when we arrived at the beach bar he set me down with a big bow just in front of the ice cream menu board. He would always show my brother and I which category we were allowed to choose from that day. Usually it was a popsicle, but once in a while we were allowed one of those big Cornettos. We then ate our ice cream on a bench and cleaned the sand from between our toes with a towel before we walked in our flip-flops towards the scorching hot car. It was often parked a lot further away because the lot would already be full of cars when we’d arrive at the coastal village. On the way home I would often fall asleep in the backseat, drowsy from the sun, wind, and sea on my skin all day long.

I can see that the same kind of ice cream menu board still stands there, but other than that basically everything is different. The restaurant building isn’t made of wood anymore but of stone, and the terrace is at least twice as big, decorated with luxury furniture and fancy parasols. I can’t remember if music was played back then, but now cool lounge beats sound from the speakers. Even the name is different I now realise. Before it used to be called The Surf, but nowadays it bears the name Life’s a Beach. As far as I’m concerned, they should have kept the old name - it really is possible to keep up too much with the times. I stroll out onto the terrace and carefully choose a corner where I snuggle into the plush cushions. I can hold out here for a while. After a couple of minutes, a bartender comes up to me. I order a large latte and a glass of water - I could definitely use some hydration. While I wait on my coffee, I take a good look around me. I find that one of the nicest things about sitting on a terrace is being able to shamelessly observe people. As always, I try to guess what kind of people they are and what they are doing here on a weekday morning. A little further away there are two women. I estimate that they are in their mid-thirties. In the sand next to them are two toddlers playing. Further away three men are busy talking. They are dressed as if they are skipping a day at the office. Would they be missed by their boss? At a table further down I see two girls my age busy with their phones, taking selfies, and between them are two cappuccinos. Their colourful beach towels and a bottle of sunscreen are within easy reach. Are they students just starting their vacation? Are the men in suits businessmen holding their meeting on the beach for a change, as part of the new working style? The women look like friends hoping to escape the house for a while in order to finally be able to catch up while their kids play peacefully. In the corner of my eye, I see a guy with a backpack walk onto the terrace. He immediately walks inside. Does he work here? Has he got a date with someone he doesn’t want to be seen with? I let my imagination run wild for a moment and then realize that it’s time to write something. I grab my diary and pen out of my bag and look for my earphones. There’s nothing better than listening to music while writing. On my phone I look for a playlist that I made especially for moments like these and hit shuffle. Today, the universe is my DJ – I leave the order in which the songs play to chance. Most of the time the line-up fits perfectly with how I feel or what I happen to be in the mood for. It’s also an exercise for me in trying to not always control everything myself. Coincidently, it was my aunt who told me that she always tries to listen to music in this way and now I’m doing it too. Funny, I will tell her later when she gets here. I’m sure she would like to hear about it. I open my diary and flip through it. I read some parts here and there from the things I have written earlier this year. Some things seem like they happened ages ago, even though they didn’t. How time flies... Suddenly, a quote that I wrote down a couple of months ago catches my eye: ‘Dare to dream!’ I don’t remember writing this, but now that I see it there it somehow triggers me. What if I really dared to dream? Immediately, like a jack in-the-box, negative thoughts come to my mind:

What do you mean ‘dare to dream’? You need to stay realistic. A dream is nice, but it must be feasible - you don’t get anywhere just by dreaming.

I write down these negative thoughts and start feeling a little sad. These are the kind of thoughts that often make me less spontaneous than I would like to be. They prevent me from acting on instinct, and quite honestly, I am getting rather fed up with it.

The perfectionist that I am, I need to be sure of what is going to happen almost before it happens. I prefer to know exactly how, with whom and where I am going to do something. And it would also be nice to get a guarantee on the outcome. All in all, not very adventurous. I write in big bold letters the word ADVENTURE and underline it a couple of times.

That’s it, I am missing adventure in my life! That really needs to change - rather today than tomorrow - but how do you even approach going about something like this?

As far as I know there is no Adventure for Dummies handbook, which would be pretty handy for someone like me. Then I would only have to read about how others have done it and apply that. I can’t help laughing at myself, so it’s a good thing the people on the terrace around me can’t hear my inner thoughts. They would probably find it funny or wonder if I’m quite right in the head. It’s the same thing, always worrying about what others think of me. I want to change that too because it doesn’t help me. In fact, by wondering what others think of me I often postpone my dream or trash it entirely.

‘Would you like to order anything else?’ I’m startled back into reality and yank one earbud out. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’ I react ashamed and I look full into the face of the boy I saw earlier walking up the terrace with his backpack. He has traded in his backpack for a cool apron. ‘Eh, the same thing’, I stutter, and I feel my face go red. Annoying… I look like a shy teenager. Nevertheless, the mystery is solved. He actually works here; nothing like a secret date. Within minutes he is back with my order and asks me what I’m writing about. I notice that I’m actually not in the mood for a conversation, but I also don’t want to be rude (even though he is the one being nosy). ‘I write my dreams down so they don’t fly away,’ I blurt out, and I immediately regret it.

What must he think? First a flushed face and now such a vague answer, that’s going well.

‘That’s great! What do you dream about?’ he reacts. He looks as if he is genuinely interested in my answer. ‘I want to have more adventure in my life’, I say while looking at him expectantly. ‘Be more specific, what kind of adventure? Do you want to go bungee jumping, to learn how to drive a motorcycle, or what?’

I have to laugh because he is right. As long as you don’t have a clear idea of what you want, it remains a dream. ‘Working abroad for some time, I think’, I answer, even though I don’t really know where that came from. ‘You think? Or are you sure?’ he bounces back.

Ay, his reaction is fair. It didn’t sound very convincing I’ll admit, but I feel deep down that going abroad could be a serious option.

He tells me that he has a friend who owns a bar in Spain, and that he is still in serious need of employees for the summer. When I ask what the bar is called, he smiles mysteriously. He grabs his phone, scrolls down a bit and then shows me an Instagram account called ‘Adventure Bar’. ‘Seems like a good sign’, he chuckles, and he extends his hand to me: ‘Tom Meijer, if you bring up my name he’ll know you’re good people. The owner is called Bart by the way, nice guy! Oh, and the bar is in Benalmádena where there are a lot of tourists, so I don’t think you will need to be able to speak Spanish,’ then he apologizes with a smile, ‘Sorry, I have to get back to work!’ I quickly write down the name of the bar and the owner and close my eyes.

You’ve got to be kidding me… Am I seriously considering working abroad for a while? Me, who normally plans a weekend trip six months in advance? Imagine missing out on that nice little hotel that got so many good reviews on social media. Or the friend I want to go with not being able to come because she has already agreed to other plans. Wouldn’t that be a shame? Me, someone who chooses security above everything else and who prefers to sleep in my own bed every night.

The little voices in my head have woken up again and are screaming loudly for attention. To silence them, I put in my earphones and hit play. Coldplay sounds in my ears: ‘If we’ve only got this life, and this adventure, oh then I….’ Yes, what if we only have this life and this adventure? What would I do? I turn my attention back to my diary and start writing down everything that concerns me. About the fact that I sometimes lie awake at night because I can’t stop worrying about what I want to do now that I have finished my studies. Once upon a time I was able to silence those thoughts by focusing on my exams. I didn’t have to decide yet, I could hold fire for as long as I wanted. Now that I have graduated, it’s become a different ballgame and I’m looking at even more sleepless nights.

What if I seriously research whether working abroad for a while is a realistic option? What will my parents think? Would they even let me go? I may be eighteen, but still. How will my friends react? Will they understand? Everyone understands that Isa is going to travel the world, but the fact that I want to embark on an adventure abroad is a completely different story. I don’t even quite understand it myself, but given that I often don’t understand others that shouldn’t really matter, should it? It’s more important that we respect each other’s choices and don’t just slight them immediately, right?

As soon as I start writing I feel immediately relieved. Even though I am not getting any answers straight away with each thought and doubt that I entrust to the paper, the more space is created in my head. I begin to write without really thinking and the words come naturally.

A hand on my shoulder startles me. I look up, irritated - I was just getting into the flow. Bright red lips smile at me, and I jump up and fall into my aunt’s arms. ‘How are you, sweetie?’ she asks.

Am I imagining it or does she sound concerned?

‘What do you want to drink?’ I react, dodging her question. ‘A Diet Coke will do,’ she says while she crashes on the couch. I dodge her worried look and wave at the bartender I just talked to. He comes over straight away. ‘Adventurous choice’, he chuckles when I order two Diet Cokes. ‘What was all that about?’ my aunt asks and looks at me inquisitively. ‘That’s what I’m going to tell you now!’

‘I’m going abroad for a while.’ ‘That’s great! Where are you going to go on vacation? With whom?’ she responds, a tad surprised. Of course, I did just tell her over the phone that things are not going so well and now I have suddenly come up with this. ‘Well, it’s a little different than you think. The idea is to go to Spain by myself, to work there for a couple of months. I want to get to know myself better and hopefully discover what kind of life I want while I’m out there.’ She responds as I would expect her to, calm and understanding, and asks if I already know where I want to work and how my parents have reacted. ‘I have no idea, you have the first scoop! I have just come up with it now, here on the terrace! That nice bartender has given me the name of a bar owner in Spain,’ I tell her enthusiastically. ‘Ha, that’s probably no coincidence! Go for it, brave niece of mine, you only live once!’ She does advise me to wait a little to break it to my parents, until I feel completely sure of my decision. If I don’t, she’s afraid I might let myself get talked out of it - even though she doesn’t expect them to make a big deal out of it.

How does she know me so well? How is it even possible that she’s related to my mother? They are so different! It surprises me every time, and even though I love my mother dearly, there are some things I prefer to discuss solely with my aunt.

We begin to talk about my possible plans, putting our heads together and her brainstorming enthusiastically. She has a big international network, so who knows? Maybe she can put me in contact with someone if it doesn’t work out with the Spanish bar? Fortunately, she thinks it’s a good idea to get in touch with the bar owner to investigate. Spain is a fantastic country and working in the hospitality industry in a warm climate for a few months makes for a fun and educational time, she says. She would know; she worked at a bar on a Greek island when she was about twenty-four - an experience she looks back on with great fondness and which she often tells me about in great detail. I can totally picture it. Before we know it two hours have passed. We quickly ask for the bill before we have to order again. Back at my bike, we say goodbye with a big hug and then we each go our separate ways. She by car, me by bike... poor “student” me. It will be a while before I have a driver’s license, let alone pay for my own car. It will probably be even longer now that I’ve decided to go abroad for a while, but it’s totally worth it to me. Besides, as a real Dutch woman I don’t hate cycling at all! I might actually miss that when I’m abroad. We will see.

- 3 -

At home I don’t see my parents’ car nor is my brother’s scooter in the shed. I have the house all to myself, lucky me! I really want to be alone after the conversation with my aunt. It has left me feeling a bit overwhelmed. I just need to let it sink in. What a strange day it’s been!

One moment I was waking up with a nasty hangover and the next I was more or less deciding to go abroad for a while. I make myself a big cup of tea and take it with me to my room. All I need right now is to sit down, pop my earphones in and watch a show… Into my own bubble I go. Bye world, see you later!

Suddenly there is a knock at the door and I look around dazed; it seems I fell asleep. My mother peeks her head around the corner and asks if I can come to the dinner table.

To the table? Is it that late already? Clearly, I was in a deep sleep because I didn’t even hear my mom come home. Apparently, she had already checked on me before, but was kind enough to let me sleep. ‘Did you have fun yesterday?’ she asks while sitting down, brushing a lock of hair out of my face. I nod and consider telling her about today, but finally decide against it.

I want to wait for a little while; I want to feel more confident in my decision. My aunt is right, I will let myself be talked out of it otherwise. If not by my parents, by my friends. Waiting to tell them doesn’t qualify as lying, right? I have a good relationship with my parents, but I don’t always share everything. Sometimes I just don’t feel like it. I once heard someone say that your friends are your chosen family, but then what does that make your real family? There are even people who claim that you choose your parents well before you are born. I wonder how that works in reality. Are there little souls wandering around looking for a mother who can birth them in physical form? That sounds a little too woo-woo1 for me.

‘Is everything alright?’ my mother asks me with a penetrating look. ‘Where is your head at?’ ‘Sorry mom, it got pretty late yesterday. What are we eating?’ I ask partly to distract her and partly because I am actually getting really hungry. ‘Your favourite, chicken curry with vegetables, I hope I haven’t made it too spicy.’ ‘Delicious mom,’ I say sincerely while I straighten up to give her a hug. ‘Spicy, just what I need!’ When we get downstairs, it turns out that the rest of the family are home now too. We eat together at the table, something that doesn’t happen very often anymore. There is always something more important: sport, a side job, a meeting, or a dinner party. During dinner, my brother talks all about a new game he has bought. He’s beaming, and it’s in these kinds of moments that I understand why my friends find him handsome. He’s tall with beautiful blue eyes and has a great smile, which is a good start. I take a picture of him in my mind and tell myself to imagine this moment whenever he goes back to being grumpy or tormenting me. Oh well, even though we often clash and have few common interests, I do love him dearly. He is extremely honest, and I can’t say that about many guys. On top of that, I know I can always come to him if I get into any real trouble, which is the main reason why I put up with all the pestering and confrontations. My dad unfortunately has less good news. A major reorganisation is taking place at his work and is causing him to take on quite some overtime. As he says this I see that he looks tired, which is something I haven’t really noticed before. Given how much time I have spent focusing on myself with all of my exams lately I don’t find this strange, but that’s no excuse. After all, we all do live together in the same house and he is my father. I intend to help more around the house in the future so that not everything falls onto my parents and so that my dad can focus on his work. That is, as long as I’m in the Netherlands. Maybe I shouldn’t wait too long to involve them in my adventurous plans. It’s only fair and honest. Not today, though! I offer to load up the dishwasher and make some coffee which gets me a grateful look from my mother. In the kitchen I make some beautiful, artistic looking barista art and I find half a box of chocolates in the pantry. After I have brought some to my parents and brother, I excuse myself and take my own coffee and the rest of the chocolates to my room. There I open the Instagram account of the Spanish bar and scroll through their feed, where one group of laughing tourists after the other jump off the screen, and the staff look happy on the side-lines. I suddenly feel the urge to join and party with them.

Shall I send a message? Maybe they already have all the staff they need for the summer and the party is off anyway, but I might as well ask. I hesitate. If I send the message, it means I’m actually serious about going and I’m not sure if I’m ready for that.

I suddenly think of a classmate who regularly draws tarot cards online and lets them make her decisions for her. Should I try it? I google ‘choose yes or no online,’ click on the first link and read the instructions:

‘Yes or no card reading. Do you need instant, candid advice? We have selected 25 tarot cards to help you! Think of your question, choose a card, and get your answer.’

Oh well, let’s be crazy, what have I got to lose? I formulate the question and whisper it out loud: ‘Should I send the bar a message?’ Then I let my mouse hover over the cards and choose one intuitively. The following text appears on my screen:

“The Ace of Wands is an inventive, creative card that represents some kind of passionate bond, a positive new beginning or the birth of something powerful and inspiring in your life. It could be a new project, or just something creative that you are going to do.”

Above the text in big letters it says ‘YES’, so that much is clear. Even though the way it is worded doesn’t quite do it for me, I still decide to take it seriously.

What should I put in the message, and should it be a long and detailed or short and to the point text? Agh, will I ever know something right away? The eternal shilly-shallier that I am.

I begin to type:

This is a message for Bart: Dear Bart, Today I had a nice conversation with Tom Meijer. He advised me to contact you, because you may still be in need of staff this summer? I look forward to hearing from you, and thanks in advance! Kind regards, Rowan.

My finger hovers over the send-button. Shall I? I take a deep breath and hit send. I immediately put my phone on ‘do not disturb’ in case he reacts right away. A feeling of panic takes hold of me.

What have I done? He could turn out to be a complete creep. That’s just great, I should have googled him first, to get a little bit of a better idea of who I’m dealing with. Well, I’m taking the advice of a guy I just met today... I take a deep breath… What’s the worst that can happen? That he texts back, that’s all. Well, I’ll survive, right?

I go to lie in bed and look for the latest Netflix series I have been bingeing for days that I know will help clear my mind and sleep well later on. It’s one of those feel-good-shows where everything is so wonderfully predictable that I don’t have to use my brain - which I have to admit is really nice from time to time! This series is the kind that requires snacks, so I run downstairs to get some popcorn and soda. My parents are so enraptured by their series that they don’t even look up. ‘Anyone up for a drink?’ I ask as I head to the kitchen. ‘Ooh, yes please! For me a glass of white wine and a beer for your father,’ my mom replies. While I listen to the soft crackling of the kernels as they turn into popcorn in the microwave (a process I thought magical as a child), I pour the drinks and then bring them to the living room. My mother lies curled up against my dad and I see how happy they are together. I really hope that I will have that too in a few years. It seems like a lot of effort. According to my mother, a relationship is hard work and you have to consciously invest time in each other, especially if you have children. My parents still do all kinds of things together, but they also regularly do things separately. Every now and then my mother goes away for a weekend with her best friend on a city trip or a yoga retreat. My father chooses to regularly go out for dinner with friends and every year takes a long weekend away on his motorcycle on his own. They both look up briefly as I put their drinks down in front of them. ‘Thank you sweetie,’ my mother says. I give them both a kiss and walk back into the kitchen. There are no more popping noises coming from the microwave; the magic trick is done. With a large bowl of popcorn in one hand and a glass of coke in the other, I walk up the stairs to my room. There I plop back onto my bed and engross myself into my own make-shift home cinema. After two episodes I can already feel my eyelids getting heavy, so before I actually fall asleep I quickly brush my teeth and take the makeup off my face. Anytime I feel the urge to skip my evening bedtime ritual, I know I have gone too far beyond my limits that day. I have to work tomorrow so I set an alarm and immediately put my phone on airplane mode; I’d rather not be woken up by a screen that keeps lighting up with messages from some night-owl friend. My head hasn’t even touched the pillow before I fall asleep.

- 4 -