Wanderlust

I have a huge poster above mImagey bed. It is a collage of all the places I’d like to visit. A captured pause in all the time zones I want to be present in. Venice. Barcelona. A deserted foot trail in the middle of somewhere. Berlin. Florence. Madrid. A tiny village in France. Sydney. Shangai. An unidentifiable stream but one I know I’d love to watch a badly-made paper boat sail on. Vienna. Hurghada.

What I have discovered is that having these pictures staring down at me in anticipation of uniting with them in the physical, might not be good for me.

A friend of mine once said: Minds that wander get wanderlust, and never come back. I quite agree with him. I have become a hollow vessel longing for things unknown to find completion. And the madness is in the no guarantees that once I have been all the places I want to, a certain zen would fall over me and I’d be ready to die fulfilled. The nagging voice persists; it tells me it will never end. It is a cycle; one longing replacing the last once it’s been attended to. 

It’s a consuming yearning to take long walks in strange cities and weird strangers out with my goofy smile of content as I try to capture the ephemeral beauty of life on my camera phone. 
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It is the ridiculous romance of kissing a stranger under a black sky that highlights the yellow lights that wink at us from neighbouring windows as our feet sink deeper into tickling wet grass.

It is pressing my lips against a statue’s cold surface as indigenes smile knowingly at the foreigner that is me.

There it will be. When I figure what that overwhelming feeling is as I dance on a cobbled street to the unrefined sounds being produced by a nifty instrument. It is discovering what untethered joy is. Freedom.

It’s in walking slowly in a long skirt, by a highway of speeding cars and not finding the meaning of life. But finding out that life is more in the living than the unanswered questions.

It is in the incomprehensible knowledge that the world is so much bigger than the place I grew up in. That
my soul is no longer content with the same sights I’ve been seeing for the past twenty odd years. That staying in one place would be the end of me because I have grasped one thing, which is that as little as I am in comparison with this big big world, my mind is so much bigger than to be stifled in a little town.

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