Update 1.0 on what might have a shot at making it to Periplus someday

Update 1.0 on what might have a shot at making it to Periplus someday

So I did try to write the roughest initial drafts of this piece. Regardless of whether or not these chapters will eventually morph into a well-structured creation, or if they would even finish being written at all in the first place, I see it as an appropriate moment for some early reflection.

A difficult part was to sort through all faces, names or the lack thereof, and happenstances. Do I decide on being completely honest, or do I prioritize “variety” – assuming this is the way to be a bit more reader-centric rather than exclusively putting my own agenda in the spotlight? Since it is practically a (semi-)autobiography, how do I balance the rawness and authenticity of it all with how much I want to protect certain parties? How would the real individuals feel about and react to the bluntness of it all, and should it matter? Even though they were all obviously PG-rated, but still, how explicit do I need to be about the emotions, messages, factual details, and such? Does the promised freedom outweigh the risk, i.e., will it interfere with my current relationships with some people?

But also, I looked back at all my solo travels and was made in awe with how many individuals I had met, connected with, or rekindled dormant friendships with – that inspired the making of this work. The experience spans years, though not yet a decade, and countless places that are dispersed around the globe. To think how far I have come since my first solo journey in 2017. Of all organic encounters, at least two were nameless. Some had a name but no trails to make use of it nonetheless. Some were buried deep in unanswered texts – mostly from my end. These interactions were flawed, broken, maybe insignificant now – but they were once real and most importantly, I lived them.

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Gone with the Miles

Gone with the Miles

Every once in a while, our lives get to intersect with a stranger’s, in ways that are a little more meaningful than just holding a door for them or walking in the opposite directions of a sidewalk. Maybe a sustained conversation out of boredom, an impromptu dialogue to break the awkwardness (and curiosity), a solicited exchange of personal preferences about certain things—

nevertheless, a brief moment, passing scenes, fleeting opportunities; out of sheer chance, and maybe at times, a sprinkle of luck. Perhaps, it’s your first time stepping foot into that someplace new, and theirs too. Nothing was offered except a transient period of not having to feel so alone in a reality that is completely unknown and moving fast and loud – for there’s another passerby in this very space, at this exact time, who is open to offering a shared pause in that solitude.

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Letters from Post-Vacation Blues

Letters from Post-Vacation Blues

London, June 4th, 2022

As I typed these, I was sitting at a very unusually quiet corner at London Gatwick Airport, waiting for the first leg of a series of long-haul flights that would bring me home. After 32 days of being away from home for my “ultimate solo bachelorette pilgrimage,” a.k.a. post-pandemic solo revenge travel, my reality slowly brought me back to Earth.

That day felt much quieter than the previous 31 days. My eyes were still a little damp from all the sobs that lasted for hours last night. I was definitely sleep-deprived, and also felt bizarre – in a couple of hours, I would be leaving all the faces and places that have provided me not only a shelter to sleep at night in the past month, but also to build my own temporary nest among the foreign and unknown.

The past month had got me high on life and love – and it had been way too long since the last time I recognized those feelings of appreciation of what life could serve and offer. I forgot how much joy one can absorb and digest. I did not remember that there were a few better parts of me which had been asleep for quite long that I barely recalled even existing – and they had awakened again in the past month. There was a spectrum of emotions and feelings I hadn’t experienced in a while, and it was such a lovely pleasure to welcome those rainbows, butterflies, and even thunderstorms again. It was everything but numbness, unlike the preceding two years of surviving the strangest years of everyone’ life.

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The newly unlocked kind of joy you didn’t know could exist.

The newly unlocked kind of joy you didn’t know could exist.

It’s fascinating, the things you discover as you age. Things you never necessarily learned from anywhere, nor previously heard of, and yet they somehow come about unabashedly – and that you get to experience them firsthand, which is also the sole reason why you come across them in the first place.

Certain states of mind, emotions, and feelings – they materialize out of sheer serendipity. Sometimes, it’s unannounced. For better or for worse, they may change you inside out. Even if it’s just a temporary surge of happiness, or ache, or anything in between. Even if it dies out immediately. Sometimes they show you things you didn’t know you had the capacity for, or they help you search through the depth and range you’ve been carrying with you the whole time. And that is perhaps all that you ever need out of it.

I don’t know what it is, and I don’t think I have the interest in figuring it out either. Let it be undefined. Let it remain unchallenged. Let it just live. Grow. Nurtured. Linger. Become. There is no need to guard one. It may last, or it may not. Whichever path it chooses to roam over, I am embracing it. It may fail me, or it may enliven me. There is no anticipation or expectation, just leaps of faith in believing its sole intention.

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The Act of Being Vulnerable

The Act of Being Vulnerable

Other than simply trying to maintain my sanity, one breathe at a time, my late twenties which practically began right at the onset of the pandemic was essentially filled by the many efforts I put to work on some loose ends in terms of my relationships with people around me.

I’ve started seeing a professional (again) since last year, this time rather regularly. There’s this topic I’ve kept to myself for the last two decades, that I never really talked about to anyone else but I finally worked up some courage to deal with. I also took this presumably life-altering course called The Science of Well-Being from Yale, as suggested by a blog reader and also because I’ve always heard this course being referred to all the time whenever I binge-watch yet another TEDx talk on happiness and so forth. From which, I felt inspired to reconnect and rekindle past friendships that might have gone almost stale due to the nature of the awkward adulthood phase that these friends and I are navigating through. And of course, despite having previously spent more than half of our time together in long-distance, facing yet another LDR phase with my boyfriend of 8.5 years was not without issues and new sets of challenges.

Although not always directly, all these things taught me one thing. You’ve got to be brave to be a bit vulnerable to invite others in.

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Numbed Out

Numbed Out

There’s an alternate reality where I don’t have crippling regrets in my approaching thirty. And it doesn’t involve a story about girlboss’ ambitions, nor daydreams about living in Scandinavia, nor making overdue amends with people who share your blood—not that kind. The premise is about living your early 20s carelessly, pouring your hearts out and accepting love where it might’ve been promised. To let one guard’s down where it felt safe to do so, and to quit building fences out of insecurity and fear of not being able to be vulnerable enough to let anybody in.

I feel bad and ashamed for even inviting those thoughts into my headspace. How did I allow myself to be so beaten over silly summer flings that could’ve been? To even dare to ask myself, have I traded my best years with the comfort of a safety net, that in the end doesn’t even feel so sturdy anymore?

I don’t know if I would’ve been happier or just as desperate. I would perhaps circle back to the same old situation anyway, wondering if I had done enough to allow myself to be happy.

Will I ever find out whether it is stagnation or unpredictability that would bring me more happiness and/or cherishable memories at the end?

I am in a state of paralysis, I guess, and I need any possible kind of force to move me.

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