All my life, travel has been my one great love.

I learned about travel not through the act itself but from the eyes of another, expressed through different means. When I was 13, I went on a trip with my mother and like most people that age the experience was both exciting and daunting. Temporary enough to not be a cause for concern, new and exciting enough to be something to look forward to.

It was a cramped bus and probably many uncomfortable passengers, but for me, it was the highlight of my entire year. What would I see on the journey, what hides in the greenery I can see out the window, the thought behind the colourful signs we sped past, and the fancy tall buildings I had never seen in my little corner of the city?

And so the seed was sown and a spark was formed in the heart of a very young mind.

I didn't make many friends on that trip but I had new experiences and tried new food. In retrospect it was still the basic ingredients that highlight flour and sugar, butter and milk but since it was in a different shape and in a new place, I felt I had stumbled on a gem.

When I talk about travel, I mean I enjoy the journey itself and I would say the destination as well but my view has been based on the experience of others. I have travelled very little distances and a few times as well which makes for limited experience, but the pathway itself has always made things memorable.

We would pass hills and at the time fascinating houses made out of red sand, giant ant hills that felt human-sized, and all I could think of was the stories begging to be unfolded. The stories behind the people living in those houses, and when it was evening, I could see the street lights shining in such a way that it felt heavenly, as most things feel good from the outside.

These were mostly rural areas, so I doubt the residents would agree with my initial assessment, but it was beautiful to me nonetheless, and so I found joy in travel.

My love has been sustained through a lens. I wouldn’t call it a literal lens as my knowledge on travel has been fed on different levels through different mediums.

In music and stories, in the history books, and sometimes food culture, of course, through an actual lens as well. Watching waterfalls, beaches, and modern-day travel vlogs that encapsulate the nostalgia I assume being in this place brings. These different lenses raise a question that I sometimes ponder on, should my experience with this topic be considered genuine as I've never actually experienced it?

A stationary heart paired with a wandering soul. A combination that has both its joy and misery to offer. The ecstasy of learning a new place and a word frequently used there. A culture that defies my logical mind, the gap between, the difference between feeling and knowing.

One of my earliest fixations has been living on an island, because all I've known is a busy city, polluted air and water, streetlights and very many sounds. I’ve sat under the stars I could barely see and wondered what it would be like to live on some tiny island, have a cabin near the sea, go out and forage for things.

Would it be as beautiful as imagined, or would it be an overcomplicated fairytale that does not live up to the fantasy?

I will not know until I experience this for myself, so I remain a certified expert in feeling but not knowing. For all of my bravado and desire for travel, I am the lonely foreigner who doesn't know how to exist in a new space. Very recently I had to travel to find some documentation, not very far away. About 5 hours away from what I consider home and I battled anxiety at a level I did not think I would have to.

I had been building up anticipation and the mindset of what this experience would feel like, and when it fell short, that deviation caused my mind to spiral. I would love to think that this moment brought some clarity or a realization with travel but i can’t place any, all i remember is the unrest and uncertainty of not recognizing any street signs. Not knowing the best routes, I may be unsuited for adventure.

And so I wonder if I love the act of travel itself, or the magic of luxury that travel presents, the night walks, the scenery, and the beautiful food, maybe the arts. Does this make me a fraud or an imposter, do I love the act itself or the best parts of it present in a curated manner. I do not know so I cannot say.

The only part of the journey I enjoyed was the late night drive. I love to watch as the flashing lights go by. They have a way of reminding me that I'm a speck in the entire universe, just a flash and the problems that plague my mind are just as small. That there’s so much to see, so many stories to unfold, so much to experience and feel.

My most recent memory of travel was through a movie. The main character, like most adults, was stressed about upcoming events while sitting on a beach in Santorini. The sunset was otherworldly, the waves hit just right, and she couldn't help but feel anxious. Her companion simply said, "Sometimes all we need is to stop and take a leap of faith, jump into the water, and embrace the peace that being in the moment offers." That’s what travel feels like to me.

Peace in a moment.

I am a traveler who has never left home. One day, I may walk these roads in person and see what it truly feels like. For now, I let my mind be a blank canvas, filled with the different mysteries of the world I have yet to see.