It’s my last evening in Spain. My two weeks are up—more than up, in fact. And I find myself being asked—do you want to go back home? Would you want to travel some more?
I smile. It’s not an easy answer. My mind starts reeling with all the myriad feelings and thoughts that I can’t name or even identify.
Home has a nice ring to it. But so does travel. I’m equally at home amidst a bunch of strangers (likeable ones, of course.) So, how do I pick one over another? How do you look forward to something, while also looking back at something precious you’re leaving behind?
What I do know is that I need time and silence to meditate over what I’ve experienced. Only then will I be able to dissect my feelings and thoughts and start comprehending.
But one feeling I can identify easily—overwhelming gratitude. I almost feel physically marked by my experience.
Weirdly, it’s not about the location or the fact that I checked a dream destination off my checklist. It’s not even about my first solo travel.
It’s that and also much more. It’s like they say, the sum of two things is often more than what you perceive.
And I guess, the invisible addition to the mix is something more intimate. It’s what I felt, what I lived through, and what I loved. And maybe, also the unpleasant experiences too.
So, tomorrow, if someone asks me about my trip, it’s going to take a while for me to gather my thoughts and not get lost in the chaos of my feelings. And then, maybe I’ll start narrating from the beginning.
But really, though. Did it really begin when I boarded my flight? Or did it begin after I bid goodbye to my friends at Madrid? Or did it begin when the thought of traveling germinated?
And when does it really end, too? For in the stories I narrate, I will keep traveling. And I will keep understanding more and more of my experience.
So today, I’m more questions than answers.
And I’m more longing than thinking.