Travel became my medicine.


Before, in the four corners of my room I confined in solitude imagining what it’s like to be traveling around here and there. The more I do, the more I become weary to the fact that what I ought to be doing right now might all just be, illusions rather than heart-warming daydreams. “To travel is to live” said the famous quote and that as we move from one place to another we let our soul rather than our bodies grow, develop and learn. It seems like as we meet new people and see new horizons we become numb to the effects of time and as we let the moment sink in, only then can we recognize the fact that traveling may have cured us from the recurring sickness brought about by monotone habits.

The idea of it all struck me in a sublime manner and opened my eyes to the great promises of traveling. I, for myself am blessed to have received what I have today, not the terminal fees I have paid, not the gasoline tanks filled, not the burnt skin in driving in the shade of southern skies, not the islands I’ve crossed nor the scars that came along the way, but it is that sting you just can’t explain. That certain feeling you gain as you talk to strangers, as you break the ice between intimidation and share smiles. That certain feeling that give you the chill when you see the sunsets and feel the warm breeze of the sea and remember home.

To travel really is to live. We breathe air but more than that we cling on to memories for us to be reminded that we are not machines that feed on programs and software but embodied spirits that live on cherished moments, moments that may either be bound for oblivion or for ethereal nostalgia. These are more than thoughts written and emotions put to words.

Life is not a race and the world isn’t big enough for the life we have dreamed of, travel and be cured.


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