The Hague, Netherlands

It's been four months for me living in The Hague. Things get better. Yes they do. I feel more welcomed here. I love my courses. I love to finally understand what I learn. I love to finally able to communicate better, and not entirely feel like such an alien. I love that I live in a city where there are more to offer. I love that I do not have to run like a cheetah in order to catch my train (which only came in every one hour). I have lovely friends. My house is comfy enough. I explore things. I eat a lot. I take photos.

And things get better. Yes they do.

But do I feel happy? 

Well, deep down inside, I know I can never be that whole again. I am genuinely happy when my friends happy. Yet, if they ask am I happy, I can't. I can't answer. I can't feel anything. 

Yes, things get better. But the wound left from losing my father, the broken heart, the sadness, the bitterness, they stay. They do stay. And they become demons that I try to hide and fight every day.