when: december 31st, 2018 where: amsterdam, netherlands who: @winterlost
he doesn’t do things like this.
he awoke four days before the new year discontent and with a mind running rampant with dreams of other places, of different scenery, sick of the same four walls and the same route to and from work, the same cracks in the sidewalk and weight of his keys in his hand. amsterdam. he doesn’t know why it came to him so suddenly, never a place he thought of visiting, never on his invisible repertoire of ‘maybe someday’ vacations but the tickets were surprisingly cheap and before he could call his boss or talk himself out of it he bought them. nonrefundable. sometimes life forces you to make your own fate, and the two days following the purchase he stopped sleeping.
he packed slowly, paced a lot, smoked two packs of cigarettes and overthought until his brain turned to television static. twenty-six was stifling him. he couldn’t breath, dragged down to the bottom of his twenties with cement shoes. he was approaching thirty and didn’t have a degree, worked long hours behind a bar and slept through the day. he ate takeout day in and day out, no pet, no partner, no kids, nothing. enlistment was buried underground, hands pounding against the dirt, breaking through and reaching for his ankles. he didn’t feel like an adult, didn’t feel accomplished, he could taste hysteria.
so... amsterdam.
seoul was covered in ice as he left, suitcase packed for an indeterminate amount of time dragged behind him, catching snow and dirt, face ice bitten and red, taxi humming with low music that sounded familiar to his ears but he couldn’t place where he knew it from. traveling alone before the new year, two weeks after his birthday. what a fucking loser.
then he was there, suitcase open somewhere in his hotel room, things scattered about, bedside lamp likely left on, bed half-made. he wandered new streets on new years eve, snow crusted benches and architecture, tall, beautiful buildings and rivers frozen over. he could imagine the gondolas in summer, bustling with life, but now it was surprisingly quiet for the occasion, almost as if in another dimension with the way the streets whistled with cold air, occasional pairs of couples and friends laughing, bundled in heaps of clothes, drunk, arms slung over each others shoulders. it was freezing.
‘ why am i here? ‘ he wonders, his phone left behind with missed calls from work and friends wondering where he is, gone without a word. it’s already the new year in korea, he missed it. ‘ i don’t do this, this isn’t me. ‘ and still he wanders farther and farther, no sense of direction, no end destination in mind. he didn’t look up things to do before he came, he doesn’t know where he is or what he’s looking for. snow clings to his clothes, layers upon layers, ears covered in a beanie, glasses sliding down his nose, flushed red and sniffling.
why here?
his eyes catch on a large clock on the outside of a building -- eleven o’clock, the countdown to the new year creeping up, and still, he was alone.
he sees the outside of a hole-in-the-wall bar, the lights outside yellow and dim, a sign that says “ start the new year with a drink ! “ in english with what he assumes is the dutch translation underneath.
when he opens the door he’s met with a blast of heat, the air inside that of a fireplace, the few patrons sat at lone tables giggling and cheering, downing shots and leaning close. he sits at the bar top, peeling off two layers of jackets and his beanie, left comfortable in a long-sleeve black shirt and jeans, big boots. he orders something strong, whisky -- good for the soul. the first sip runs through his chest, an empty stomach, hoping to be plastered well into the new year, if nothing else to quell the loneliness. he left his friends, the parties he was invited to, the pretty girl he barely knew that he was sure would accept a new years kiss, the comradery, all of it behind to be alone in an unfamiliar place. they were all waking the day after now, fresh into the new year. without him.
he asks again, ‘ why am i here? ’
there comes a sensation like a chill, run fresh down his spine and he turns his head, eyes catching on a girl sat by herself a few stools away. for a moment he can’t look away, studying her, she looks korean too and for some reason that’s enough to be comforting, to quell something. he hesitates a moment, shifting in his seat, debating, bottom lip caught between teeth for a moment when in korean, embarrassingly hopeful, he says, “ hi, sorry, are... are you waiting on someone? “
