The Thing About Traveling is…

I still remember everything about this picture.

It was about 6.30 in the morning, and I was on my way to Lombok at about 33,000 feet. I had fallen asleep with the window half-closed, and somehow I jolted awake and decided to lift the partition (I’m a window-seat girl. Always have been). The view that greeted me was spectacular. Out came the camera, and off I went snapping photos. Other people behind and next to me soon followed suit.

My journey to Lombok was filled with tears (such beauty! I’ve heard people say how beautiful it is, but I honestly didn’t expect to to be utterly stunning), anxiety (I failed my diving training with flying colors, and I panicked so bad the morning of the actual dive, my instructor had to call in a friend to help guide our group), and pure bliss. I remember the feeling of finally having my first ever proper vacation (hotel room! Shower! Soap! Air conditioning! Breakfast!). I remember celebrating my birthday eating at a beachside restaurant enjoying the ambiance and the music. I remember the dinner I had along with my diving group, sharing stories and making small talks and everyone toasting with beer and/or wine. I toasted with water. I remember thinking to myself: how unusual. The whole thing was a time to remember, but an entirely different thing that I, until that point, had never experienced all by myself.

My idea of traveling is usually by means of backpacking. The first time, I went with my friends to Central Java. The rest, I go by myself and meet all sorts of new people. One time, I took a trip that didn’t book a hostel at all. We sleep in the car. Another time, we stay with the villagers. Now you see what I was saying when I said that it’s different?

But there was a moment of epiphany that I will never forget, and It revealed to me the essence of taking a trip and seeing the other side of… anywhere, really. Standing on the foothills of the Ijen Crater, to my right was a view of a small city: a hurdle of lights, some flickering. It was dead quiet, and for the first time in a long time, I could tell that I was enjoying it. Really enjoying it, not rushing to get to another thing or see another sight. Nothing was really after me, and I get to have that moment all by myself. Even if there are other people around.

At the end of the day, what I remember is not the boring stuff, the every day stuff that I also have when I’m back at my place. What I remember are the moments in between: the 13-hour trip on a very slow, very dirty train on the way to East Java. The stars, as far as the eyes could see — a sight never to be seen in the city. The first sea turtle I see swimming above my head as I motioned ‘cool’ to my diving instructor. The people who welcome us with open arms. Sleeping on the ferry floor. The sheer delight I feel when we stopped at a petrol station and everyone got a box of rice and fried rice noodles. Bawling, yes, bawling my eyes out, at the sight of Senggigi beach. The sense of accomplishment as I managed to reach the top of Krakatoa, and the swollen feet I got from my whole adventure to Mount Bromo and Ijen. The quiet, dark vast of the ocean below us as we traveled to Ho Chi Minh at 7 pm.

It gives me perspective. It gives me strength. And, ultimately, stories.