The train from Paris to Bordeaux was delayed. 2h30.

The reason? An abandoned luggage.

When I heard the announcement, I laughed in the train station.

Does it really take 2h30 for deminers to get a bag outside of the train?

I was kind of annoyed.

But as I saw everybody being so grumpy and complaining at the information desk, I just kept laughing.

No doubt I’m in France, I thought.

Welcome back… home?

Since my first step outside of the plane, I felt like this whole trip would just remind me the reasons why I decided to leave this country in the first place.

The first night, in Paris, my friend Arnaud hosted me.

And in the morning, we ate a typical french breakfast (coffee, bread, croissant & cheese), on his rooftop, with a view on Montmartre’s Sacré-Coeur.

We had very insightful conversations about business, nations & life in general.

I love talking with people smarter and wiser than me.

I don’t like Paris, but I enjoyed meeting with Arnaud, a lot.

So instead of focusing on all the reasons why I am glad I don’t live in France anymore, and to just reinforce my positions, I decided to challenge myself during my trip here.

I want to focus on all the amazing things I still like about France, rather than counting the days until I leave.

So, anyway, the train was late, everybody complained, and I just used this time to go for a walk, and make random temporary friends at the train station.

It was gray outside, it was cold inside, and the station was crowded with impatient and grumpy people.

But somehow, I decided it was great for me to be there.

I spent the night at my sister’s place, with her boyfriend and my nephew, who grew up faster than I imagined.

We ate cheese, tartare steak and drank a bit of red wine.

Welcome back… home?

Today, I spent my entire morning walking around the city, by myself.

Riding a boat as a public transport to crosse the river. Riding the tramway as I used to do when I was a student.

People are busy, they see me, but nobody looks at me.

I’m smiling.

It feels comfortable, and familiar. Yet I feel like a tourist in my own hometown.

I stop somewhere to grab some food, and as I go to the bathroom, I hear people speaking Bahasa.

It’s already fun when I speak Bahasa in Indonesia and people are shocked to hear that I can speak their language.

But doing the same thing in Bordeaux, in my hometown, was absolutely priceless.

They were from Surabaya, visiting Paris, Bordeaux, and going to Lourdes. And they were very far from expecting to talk to a “local” in their own native language while in France.

Welcome back… home?

I spent hours roaming around the city, feeling the vibe again, trying to enjoy being here, and now.

Bordeaux is one of the most beautiful city I know. I love the pace, how clean it is, and how modernity blends with history.

People don’t often smile back, but I keep smiling anyway.

The air is cool, and sometimes, I can feel the warmth of the sun, making its way through the clouds.

It feels like spring.
I like it.

We don’t have spring in Bali.

As I walk another random street, a deaf mute person and her friend ask me if I can answer a few questions for a survey.

“No, tha.. Oh wait, why not actually!”

It was about deaf people and art. I knew nothing about it, and my answers probably proved how ignorant I was, but they seemed to enjoy that I stopped and took time to help.

Right as I finished this, I recognized a familiar face.

It was Andre, who owned the bicycle shop that sponsored me and made my whole bicycle trip possible, 5 years ago.

I hadn’t met him in 5 years.

To add to the coincidence, we were literally a few meters away from where I started the journey, in front of Bordeaux’s city hall.

He invited me for a coffee.

As we spoke, I realized that he had been following most of what I wrote and shared for all this time.

He said he enjoyed seeing my evolution, from his own perpective of 60+ years old man looking as a 20+ kid walking his own way through life.

It was humbling.

But it’s one more reason why I’ll keep writing stories.

From our conversation, I take away that life is short and can be unexpected.

And it comes down to our own decision how we handle the setbacks and deal with our own cards.

We’re not all at the same page,
and we don’t have to be.

We all come from the ground, and will all end up back in the ground soon or later.

Whatever we do in between, is up to us.

I am now sitting at the Mama Shelter, where I used to stay and work from a few years ago.

The place hasn’t changed at all.

I am not sure how I feel. It’s not a black or white thing.

It’s like a weird mix of not matching colors popping randomly all around my mind.

So I decide to enjoy it while it lasts.

Welcome back… home?