The word “travel” has this unmistakably liberating feeling that I can’t quite pinpoint. For me, the word contains blue skies, flight, and freedom.
(Don’t get me wrong, cloudy days, I don’t play favorites much when it comes to weather - but it’s kinda hard to imagine oneself flying through an impenetrable layer of clouds, isn’t it? Anyway, I digress; )
Travel contains excitement, salty ocean water, romantic nights on Venetian canals, and delectable Hungarian sunsets that don’t mean a thing unless shared with someone worth loving. It contains koala marches, bugles trilling, and heels clacking upon history made.
Travel means elephants and penguins on one’s mind, currents of currant, and great windmills (egad, they must be giants!). It means soaking in delicious rays of sunlight on the coast of the Mediterranean and dancing in the moonlight on a Spanish veranda.
Travel is exotic spices and smells from India, basket-fulls of dried pineapples from Hawaii, complete with a perfect nap on a woven hammock in Guam. It is feeling the breeze kiss you awake on a Brazilian meadow, and wearing your heart on your sleeve -- but not so evidently that just about any foreigner snatches it away.
Travel entails getting lost on a journey to the Roman forum, only to find yourself wishing that you could stay lost forever. It entails the sounds of rich drums playing, butterfly kisses from real butterflies, and countless colors that light your path to another place just as extraordinary.
I want to go. I want to taste. I want to fly. I want to see. I want to get away.
If only.
- - - - -
Sorry for the long hiatus, and thank God for Haruki Murakami. Nobody can escape his influence, it seems, since it gave birth to this one.
Props to anyone who understands all the references I made here. Haha
cr: realityDream@Deviantart for the photo.
