I am nowhere, I am everywhere

If I should reveal the truth, I am afraid that people will think I am crazy, unhinged, unstable. And can I blame them? That is why I have chosen to keep it quiet. To pretend that nothing is wrong. Until now. There comes a time when the pressure becomes unbearable. I cannot continue to make as if nothing is wrong. Like everything is as usual. Because it is not normal. The idea that I am constantly being watched, that someone is always keeping an eye on me. Like I am an escaped criminal, a fugitive delinquent.

Now that the cat is out of the bag, I can also explain when it all started. I can still remember it exactly. It was after a consultation evening in the Town Hall. A discussion was organized about the municipal asylum policy. Should more refugees be taken in in our town? My opinion was – and is – that we should do everything possible to help our fellow human beings. Whether they already live in our country or whether they have only just arrived due to various circumstances.

Anyway, we had a beer afterwards, I spoke to the mayor, I chatted with a journalist. I had been quite emotional that evening. I could tell from the reactions of my conversation partners that they were worried. But I was proud of myself. I increasingly realized how close the political subjects were to my heart. Human rights, the precarious state of our planet, the power of big money, the funding of our health care system,

Had I in previous years shared my opinion and my vision with some caution, I now resolved to enter into the debate more fiercely, sharply and bluntly. My aim was that people would listen better to my arguments. Perhaps I could make a difference?

When I walked home after the meeting – it was drizzling, no stars or moon to be seen – I looked around uneasily. I was being followed. Or so I believed. I felt eyes piercing my back. Who was trailing me? An enemy? A friend? I peered around as inconspicuously as possible. I could not spot anyone in my vicinity.

I had not even got home when I immediately closed all the doors and windows. Through a crack in the curtains, I squinted to see if I could notice any suspicious movements. When I concluded after half an hour that I could not find anything out of the ordinary, I sat down on the couch and followed the latest news on TV.

The fact that I was now safely in the house did not change the fact that I still felt spied on. Had someone slipped into my home behind me? I grabbed an umbrella (I did not have a baseball bat) and searched every room and space in my little house. My heart was in my mouth. Behind every door, under every cupboard, I expected an unforeseen visitor. But I did not let my own fear deter me. At two o'clock in the morning I was done with the search and had to conclude that I was alone. But it did not feel that way.

The days after that I went back to work. I drafted reports about the poor state of the river water, I visited asylum seekers' centers to conclude how little privacy the visitors got, I wrote letters to all political parties to draw attention to the problem of agricultural poison on fruit and vegetables. I read five newspapers.

I felt in my element. I fought for the right cause. And there were so many noble causes to fight for. There was still so much injustice on this planet. And I would not rest until all this was out of the world. Through news sites, through social media, friends and acquaintances, I became more and more involved in the suffering that hung like a dirty blanket over a helpless and powerless world.

In the meantime, I told no one. About those prying eyes that were always focused on me. The lights that came behind me. Whether I was walking down the street to attend a demonstration ('End colonialism: respect Indigenous peoples rights'), giving a lecture at the local university, I was being watched. Like Higher Powers were summoning me. The strange thing was that as the feeling of being observed increased, I started to work harder. More protests, more letters to the editor, more critical reports. Like – by acting so zealous - I could make myself immune to the piercing gaze.

But I could not keep it up. I also realized that I was fooling myself. There had to be an explanation for the fact that I felt like I was being followed. I couldn’t live a daytime, at night I lay awake, and I would break out in a cold sweat. Was I slowly going insane?

Did I want to see a doctor? A psychologist friend? I searched the internet for possible explanations. But I did not dare read anything what I found. Was I afraid of the diagnosis? Did I have a cunning suspicion that I was starting to lose control of myself?

I decided to go on holiday. I booked a trip to southern Spain. Malaga. A town near the sea. When the weather was good, I could lie on the beach. No sooner said than done. When I arrived, it turned out to be ideal beach weather. Sitting on an oversized towel and a pile of reports and books next to me, I tried to enjoy the sun. Sometimes I dived into the water. Sometimes I went for a walk.

But in the end, I always ran back to my familiar spot in the shade under an orange tree. And start reading with great interest about the relationship between government and democracy.

I may not have been at home, I may not have been at work, but that did not change the fact that I could not leave the problems of the world behind me. There were still so many actual and critical themes that deserved my attention. Climate, nature, environment, education, health, liberty, equality, and fraternity.

In the evening I strolled along the promenade. Cruise ships lay heavy and pretentious in the harbor. Tourists sat on terraces and drank bone-dry muscat wine. I occasionally took an ice cream.

Those first few days it seemed that I was alone. I thought I was unobserved. I thought I was free. But on the third day in my holiday destination it happened. I kept looking around nervously again. I knew it. I realized it. I was being observed. Someone was viewing my every move. Someone was keeping a close eye on me.

After a week I packed up my things. My face, my arms, my legs were as brown as chocolate shavings. It was all to no avail. I felt helpless, desperate. Something was wrong with me. But what?

Now that I am home after the holiday trip, I am at the point where I dare to admit it to myself. I am tired, exhausted. This cannot continue. For the first time in years, I have put everything aside. No news sites, no TV, no radio, no social media, no reports. I am sitting small and cold on the loveseat. I have a blanket wrapped around my legs. The heater is roaring at full blast.

In the backroom, I hear shuffling. Footsteps? I am not even shaken up anymore. It is fine to me. I give in. Whoever or whatever is chasing me, I am defeated. I have lost the battle. I have no more inclination to fight. I have absolutely no desire to flee.

He stands in front of me like it is the most natural thing in the world. Light blond wavy hair, grey-blue eyes, soft smile. He is dressed in an orange-brown knitted pullover, worn out jeans, sneakers. “Do you still recognize me?” he says. I nod. Of course, I know who he is. But he does not wait for an answer. He takes a short run and jumps onto the couch. I am startled by all the commotion.

“Hey, old man! Wake up!” he teases. He gives me a push. I almost fall off the couch. “What are you doing?” I want to know. But he is already up to the kitchen. “Don’t you have something tasty to eat?” he asks. To return a moment later with a bag of crisps.

“Crisps?” I want to know. “Didn’t you have any dinner tonight?”

He grabs a handful of potato snacks from the bag and stuffs the crunchy nibbles into his mouth. I shake my head. The fact that he is young shouldn’t be an excuse for not having any manners.

“I’m sorry,” the boy says, “that I have been following you around all the time. But you know, you were so busy, so serious, so stressed, that I did not dare talk to you. You acted like you were so old, so grown up, so smart. I did not see any way for us to play.”

Playing? What is the kid talking about. But now that I think about it, he knows how to put a smile on my lips. He throws the empty bag of chips in the trash, grabs my hand, and asks: "Come on, I have an Xbox upstairs. Want to play Halo?" Before I knew, we are having a little competition to see who gets to the first floor first.