You Are Travel

Standing on the cliff, peeping into the deep bottomless dark abyss — which is eerily silent, you are being sucked into the black ruggedness. Black symposium with dark melodies are sprinkled with eight-legged arthropods who’d come out screeching — crawling deep under your skin.

You are travel. One moment, you are in harmony, enjoying the world as it is, only to find yourself, next moment, in a situation similar to a child who has been separated from his family. He looks frightened and lost — trying with utter dismay to get hold of reality. Dismayed, imbalanced and disoriented, he tries to find the base foundation to keep away the edges of prickly terror penetrating his veins. He attempts to hold on to the shaft of grape vine, searching for a purpose, to the places he belonged, and the people who belonged to him. The child still bearing a toy in his hand — the only thing left from past, runs hither thither, with dismal attempts to find it’s roots. In an attempt, to get back to the harmony, stabilization and the conscious association of mind — the one that links and makes up his cluster -a cluster where things, commodities and people thrive and rhapsodize in continuous equilibrium.

You are travel. Time is siphoned into the reckless vacuum; carrying you along to float in the infinite black hole. The air is ruffling sharply against your skin, darkness engulfs and you gasp for air. You surface in the open but the air doesn’t provide ample oxygen. You are still short of it, still gasping — for familiarity, hope, and positivism to sweep you.

You are travel. You force and reason yourself to go out. Not because you don’t want to, but because you’re afraid. Being afraid comes with a meaning — a meaning which is obscure and you know not yet. Is discerning and bifurcating the basis of fear into small basis points worth the effort? Yes, it is.

You are travel. Because you search for a blank in people’s eye. New people you don’t know in an even more new environment. People who are so distinct from you, with the conviction, whether they have an identical blank vessel as yours? Or, do they have a galore of fullness and abundance- linking to the cosmos like graphite carbon links? Do they feel as empty as a hollow vessel and need to fill the cup? Or, is their cup over-flowing with joy and all-things-good?

Humans are wired so differently.

You are travel. Harmless things may scare you. And, it is okay to be scared once in a while. Did you ever imagine — will going out, talking and looking at people send you to the land of barrenness where there are only land-locked tall weeds? I guess, not. You imagine yourself walking through the unprecedented fill of tall weeds and losing your way. They are so thick that you’re trapped, and you try to find the way to get out of the maze. You remind yourself to not give way to ambush, however, no matter how hard you try — at last, trepidation fills in. You fail because you are a weakling who is afraid to face fears. You do an insufferable tango because you are looking for familiarity of home country in a host country, which of course, by all means, doesn’t exist.

Can I call you a coward not willing to break the cocoon of comfort zone? I would not. Breaking shells requires time. You go through the process of germination. The seed germinates slowly, blossoms into a plant, and then into a full-grown tree.

You are travel. There are days when you just want to ensconce in your own shell. The shell is impenetrable. And, it is perfectly okay. You go through periods where silence would be ruffling like a cold wind rummaging past the cemetery. Akin to situation where the bomb is being detonated somewhere miles away and you hear the explosion in your ear. You long for silence — silence which will let your mind dance through a rhythmic melody, make your mind rest by still waters, greener pastures, sunny breeze and rolling hills.

You admonish the mind to regain its harmony and to be flexible so as not to feel the elastic tension. You pine for solace. You crave for comfort. You dream of warmth. You yearn peace — peace of mind.

You long for cosmos to sing a lullaby and put you to sleep.

You are travel. Your heart bleeds not because you left things and people behind, your heart bleeds because you are trying to create things from the ashes and the struggle to create is real. The process can be easy like a breeze but you find it difficult to blend into the current matter state and establish the congruence of the aforementioned state bearing the same molecular charge.

You see people around, talking and laughing — but do they know what you know — about you, or do you know what they know — about them, as a person? Is their mind in the same collaborative platform as yours, or does it afloat in different dimensions? You want to know if their laughter has a pure, untainted, deep, sincere origin, and if they see things the same way as you do?

Happy, anxious, sad facesyou learn to read them all. And now when you are in a total new country, with new people — question is will you still be able to do it? Yes, you should be able to do it — to know and read them as if reading a book and getting bewitched by their stories only to fill the chasm by myriad colours. You have so many questions which significantly hold importance as small as a grain of sand. However, it is still a grain of sand, in the desert, huddled up, and blowing with the storm waiting to settle down. And, settling would come when the rain comes.

You hope the inertia would change gears no sooner than the next day so that you’re comfortable. You wait for the the initial frenzy of settling down to settle like the sediments in the water pot. But until it does, it will be a bumpy-ride and you know that you cannot stop, or going back the same path isn’t an option at all.

No matter how strong you claim to be, how detached you consider yourself — transitioning is weird. You do not feel associated to the country you are moving to and not the country you have just left. You’re in the perilous position of hanging from a tree.

In the end, all else fades — as long you do what you are supposed to do, everything else fades. But unless it does, you have to enjoy your bumpy-ride and wait. Wait for the time to look back and marvel that you survived and will do so in future.

For eternity and beyond, you are travel.

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Originally published at traveldonuts.wordpress.com on October 14, 2015.

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