I’m an avid reader. My kindle is loaded with 300 books and I love checking out blogs, articles, Instagram pictures with captions. I love inspirations. I love learning new things, especially when they are related to other cultures, languages or points of view totally different from mine. I love discovering how people live. What do they fear in the deepest and most silent parts of themselves? What does keep them alive and excited and how do they show their emotions?
I love hearing the sound of nature, regardless of the location where I am. It can be a tropical beach. It could be under warm blankets if it happens to be rain drops.
I love observing how the universe changes and donates us fruits of awareness if we are wise enough to stop from time to time and observe the constant motion of our being.
I love looking at the world even when the only thing it really sent me back to is the presence of my own self into this common space.
People travel all the time and in all possible ways. Getting out on a crowded destination is like lifting a curtain. Sometimes it is pure motion, some other times it is like a call. It seems an irresistible thing many people cannot live without.
To me travelling is not done to check out names on the map. When people ask me where I have been so far I am pretty sure I am not even able to tell all the places – which are not many – but just because this is not what really counts for me.
I can remember very well what someone told me at a bus stop in Crete 3 years ago. The smiles of some old musicians I saw performing while camping wild on the Aaran Islands more than a decade ago. The eyes of a little girl after I gave my earrings with skulls on a ferry to Athens. I just won’t be able to tell you every city I visited.
I can remember the taste of wild mushrooms collected while hiking the mountains which no one knows but I maybe won’t recall the name of the place we were.
Travelling to me means catching small details of realities which smell and blow far from where I am from. When places resemble the one which gave me birth, it is more breathing that connection pattern which makes me feel at home. It’s kind of going back to that time I used to walk dusty roads with my grandfather when there always was something exciting waiting for me.
I don’t know what I really love the most about travelling. There are moments I wish I could go back somewhere to that someone who I have been knowing all my life. Someone who would still be there, ready to hug me, in a place I can call ‘home’.
There are moments, most of the moments I am living now, that I know I wish I were nowhere else. This is not every time I see something wonderful or I talk to someone new. It is when I realise how there is nothing like past or future. There is only one moment, which is now, and it is me happening.
The most exciting part it is packing my cubicles back inside my backpack. Find that space again, playing tetris with shorts and T-shirts realizing how many things I don’t need to feel good.
I love travelling when it means hugging those new friends I’ve just met. Those people who for one day or one month have been my family.
I love feeling grateful for everything we have shared but now it is time to plug music into my ears and go.
Feel the breeze getting underneath my skin. Looking my own reflection on a window to realize that this is me, going.
When I hit the road and I pull the thumb because I am looking for a lift. When I am heading for the next bus stop or looking for a hostel where to crash and sometimes I am so tired I can’t even talk while the morning after I can’t put breaks on my tongue.
This is the ultimate freedom which I read back into the eyes of the strangers I meet on the road when I tell them
I have no idea what I will do tomorrow or next month
It’s the difficulty most people have in understanding what’s going on inside dreamers and brave hearts when we say ‘yes’ to the life we want.
‘You truly are happy’ – someone told me yesterday.
And I will travel for all the time it will make me this happy.