Travelling hasn't excited me for as long as I remember, in any of the ways people claim it excites them. I look at it in a way that it involves torpor. The cluelessness of being in an unfamiliar city, its roads unknown and its landscape oddly out of place - all this irks me to an extent of shunning away from the idea of travelling. I don't really like the idea of being crippled in my head on where to go and hot to go where to go and all that nonsense.
The last two years, however, have seen a lot of travel in my life. Rather than travelling & pretending to be deliberately lost amid streets of a city and digesting the rhetoric of "discovering myself", I prefer to say I have taken holidays. Actually, I am on one when I write this. In a relatively unfamiliar city, feeding on tales spun about it by known folks associated with the city.
One thing though, stands out for me about going to places - amid all this mess. People. How universal each person is in some ways and how peculiarly distinct they are in their own ways. I spotted a young lady this morning, getting ready in her home to leave to work. Her appearance - a 'makeover' in fact, seemed to be at total odds with the household she belonged to. Does she like the makeover? Or is she only necessitated to adapt to it? If she's just necessitated, she's bathed in human universality, tied around by a rope called survival. If she's delighted by her daily cosmetic transformation, she's peculiar in a way that's original to her.
We humans...
The last two years, however, have seen a lot of travel in my life. Rather than travelling & pretending to be deliberately lost amid streets of a city and digesting the rhetoric of "discovering myself", I prefer to say I have taken holidays. Actually, I am on one when I write this. In a relatively unfamiliar city, feeding on tales spun about it by known folks associated with the city.
One thing though, stands out for me about going to places - amid all this mess. People. How universal each person is in some ways and how peculiarly distinct they are in their own ways. I spotted a young lady this morning, getting ready in her home to leave to work. Her appearance - a 'makeover' in fact, seemed to be at total odds with the household she belonged to. Does she like the makeover? Or is she only necessitated to adapt to it? If she's just necessitated, she's bathed in human universality, tied around by a rope called survival. If she's delighted by her daily cosmetic transformation, she's peculiar in a way that's original to her.
We humans...
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