Who teaches you to come back?

Travel—it’s a common theme these days. So many of the inspirational posts doing the rounds these days are about letting go of the vagaries of life and travelling.

Travel to your heart’s content. Travel until your feet can’t move anymore. Travel until your heart expands to fit the whole world in. And then, travel some more, they say.

It’s a beautiful concept. And travel one must.

But who will teach you to come back home?

Home with it’s chores and daily schedules. Who will remind you of their urgencies and the reason why you withstood the painpoints?

Home with it’s shackles and binds, heating your skin up that was, until a split second ago, cold from the breeze blowing against you on the tall cliff.

Home with it’s dull grey skies and polluted city centres, where only the young and foolish think they’re free. Wasn’t it not too long ago until you were one of those?

Home, where the parties have come to an end and the after-parties only rise and ebb in the chorus of the sonorous snores.

Home, where the 5.00 am alarm rings you, and you don’t jump out, excited about chasing the sun rise from the east. No, instead you drag your feet to the bathroom and drape yourself in the anonymity of dreary clothes.

Where all texts you get are from colleagues and a handful of friends left in the drainage pipe, ready to ride away the time train. Not, from friends made a few minutes back, making excited plans to discover a pristine hidden beach or get up close to a tall mountain peak.

No. How do you get back?

When all you’re faced with is the list of compromises you made to stabilize reality. When you have to relive the decisions—the friends cut off, the people you retain; the habits newly formed at the behest of old ones gone. Everything that formed the new skin you sew for yourself over time, shedding bits and pieces of the old one again and again, minutes and hours at a time.

Will you agree with each of those?

Would you take the time to mourn what you left behind long before you travelled? But adhere to what’s left?

Or will you rethink your life, change the compromise that’s no more comfortable, and chase after what you decided to leave behind?

How do you answer all your questions about yourself, the people and the world around you, when all you’re expected to do is be normal…again?

And so, you escape. You relive your travels again and again in your mind, avoiding the realities unfolding before your eyes. You forget the life you’re living, and love the past, holding onto it with a desperate vigour, all the while being painfully aware that those memories are fading.

Going, going…. Gone.

There. Now you’re back to reality.

Or are you?

Three weeks of home

Einstein was right. Time is very elastic. Twenty days can seem really long. But some other twenty days can pass by in a jiffy.

It’s been three weeks home, and I’ve long left behind the person I was while traveling. Not only have I shed the baggages I carried while traveling, I’ve only shed that person. And in return, I seem to be carrying around the roles and responsibilities that I find myself with back home.

Day to day tasks; work responsibilities; ups and downs with friends and family, and what not. Love, friendship, camaraderie. Festivities, routine, death. Good times and bad.

I wish I could complain though. I can’t.

What I have at home is beautiful too. Work that I love. People who love me back. And a vibrant social life—the way I’d want it to be. Variety of friends who I can talk to about all possible things in the world. A family that does let me be. Work mates who teach me and help me when needed.

What else does one need?

And yet… The greedy human heart and mind always wants more.

I wish to be in a Quantum state—where I can be in two or more states at once. Where I can be multiple people experiencing different things at once—home and travel. At once stationary and yet traveling.

How I wish.

Unfortunately or fortunately, though, the only thing Quantum is my mind, frantically switching across different modes. Sometimes day dreaming about Spain, sometimes being part of reality here at home.

And across all this, I ask myself: Is this real? Was it all real?

The last twilight

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. 

Wish for more; wish for nothing

Have you ever had enough of something and yet wanted a bit more of it?

I never thought I did until I traveled. Until then, it was clear whether I wanted more of something or whether I had had enough. It was an ‘either or’ situation; they were mutually exclusive.

Now, though, as I hit the last leg of my journey, I find myself wanting different things that seem opposite to each other.

I can’t wait to go back home. I feel 10-13 days has been long enough. I’ve traveled enough to satisfy me for a few months.

And then, I wish I had a few months more—travel at leisure with weeks spent in one place instead of a day or two. Hang around and work a few odd jobs like the locals; backpack around for a fair bit; don’t look back at home for a year or so; maybe volunteer a bit too!

It’s weird because they’re exactly opposite to each other. I can’t eat the cake and have it too. I can’t be at home and travel too.

And yet, that’s what I find myself feeling.

As much as I love the new experiences, I’m starting to feel like taking it slow, giving a few places a miss, sit at one place for longer—few days even. And then the tiredness gives way to a craving for the comforts of home.

And yet, I find myself craving to be the person who had once wanted to volunteer and travel for months at a time; do odd jobs that earns you enough to let you travel from one place to another; get a glimpse of the local life; not be a mere traveller or tourist. Be an actual gypsy. 

But then, reality strikes. Neither am I the young gun who would’ve had the balls to do it. Nor do I have the will to actually proceed through. At best, I can buy myself travel-led freedom for two weeks. Maybe, some day, when I look back, I’ll feel it’s enough. Hopefully. Or maybe not.

I think the problem is of having had too much. An overdose of good things too can be problematic. It doesn’t give you enough headspace to appreciate, observe, feel and digest.

In a lot many ways, it’s a classic first world problem. 

Nonetheless, I count myself lucky to have been given this opportunity. And I won’t give up what I’ve experienced for anything. It’s been an amazing journey—better than I could have ever dreamt of! I’m proud of myself for having achieved this. And now, I can’t wait for more such changes and experiences. 

Until then, may be a little bit of home would be good. Or may be a little extra travel.