Unbeatable.

I miss a lot of things, I love plenty more, but right now, this memory is unbeatable. New Zealand is easily the most beautiful place I’ve ever been to in my life and I want to return oh so bad.

Give me the world.

I want to walk walk walk forever, and stop only to laugh. I want adventures and shock and the breath to be knocked from my body. I want to swallow cheap thrills and be drunk on my own wit. Break a sweat and fall in love and dance in the rain and be among treehuggers. I want to be a part of a rumbling, tumbling swell of believers, of protesters, the wayward minority cresting and breaking. I want to find the world in a corner shop and go giddy with the sweet relief of being lost. I want to find my soulmate written on a graffitied wall, a small, tiny dapper-looking man with a top hat only existing in ink and faded with time. I want companionship and I want to tell a stranger my secrets. I want to sob wetly on someone’s shoulders and then apologize and run away and be caught in the wind, on to the next place that calls out to me. And then the next, and the next, and the next.

Someone, give me the world.

The world is much bigger than your dreams.

7 Plans for UK.

1. Take a photo with Platform 9 and 3/4

2. Join an Amnesty local group/campaign in London

3. Try to drink tea rather than coffee

4. Laugh a lot

5. Watch a live show

6. Fall in love with a cafe

7. Volunteer in a soup kitchen

Call this a revelation.

Sometimes, when I’m in a ponder-y sort of mood, I try to see myself now through the eyes of my 12-year-old self. And sometimes, when I’m all self-indulgent and – god forbid! – happy, I think, Wow. I’m doing exactly what I have always, have only ever, dreamt of doing. I may not have reached the expiry date of insecurity, nor am I even close to earning enough so I don’t have to keep worrying about money (not that this is a primary goal), but I am seeing the world, little by little, in my own way. I am writing, and drawing, and photographing, and making a mural of my life somewhere, somehow. Leaving bits and pieces of myself scattered across the globe and meeting people who’ll only ever see me at one of the best moments of my life. It’s not much, but realizations like these put a smile on my face because it’s like fantasy and reality are realigned. My dreams are slowly coming true and yet the minutes in actual reality feels dream-like, though only in the best possible way.

So yes. 12-year-old me has got nothing to worry about.

(…jinx!)

We’re not done here. [Barcelona, May/June 2011]

The closest I got to feeling like an alien. [Tokyo/Yokohama, February 2011]

And started I have.

My one-way flight to London leaves in October. (:

Spanish Inns. [Barcelona, May-June 2011]

It’s getting easier: spending copious amounts at once on flight tickets after saving cent by cent for months, planning a trip, watching as it grows from skeletal frames to fleshed out knowledge about a city, knowing what to look out for, knowing what to listen to and what not to listen to, knowing who is being paranoid and who is being wise, learning the basics of new languages, using those languages. It’s getting easier to meet people, open up, teach and be taught, laugh, try things, walk, run, skip, jump, hop, dance. It’s getting easier to breathe under pressure, to enjoy the turbulence (though I’ve always secretly enjoyed turbulence – flight-wise, at least), to love a city, to love its people, its hills and slopes and to work up a sweat. Putting in effort is respectful- Merci, Arigato, Gracias; Excusez-moi, Sumimasen, Por favor. Observing is essential.

But like all good things, it’s got its downside. It’s not getting easier to leave; to walk away begrudingly and know that for every unique experience, you’ll lose life to a memory.

I think I’ve left bits and pieces of myself around the world. It’s sort of like making Horcruxes. Despite me feeling like it pales in comparison to other places I’ve been, Australia has the most virginal part of my heart. Paris has a small portion; London a bigger one, throbbing and unsatisfied. Wellington bit off a huge chunk; Tokyo took some more. I’ve cried in several different countries and over oceans. I’ve laughed until it hurt to laugh in dozens of places. Sometimes I force myself to stop and think about how lucky I’ve been; it took a lot, most of it took everything, but everything was always worth it.

Something about Europe makes me feel amazing. Something about its architecture and weather and people makes me feel like I can be what I really want to be. London made me feel that way; so did Barcelona. One of the most amazing things I experienced there was the protest on the last night; everyone was sat down, and there was a speech being made, and as they applauded, they waved their hands silently in the air. It was peaceful and beautiful and utterly befuddling. It was one of those moments when you start wishing so hard you can understand the language, know what they’re fighting for, what they believe in.

I love the vibe, the art, the streets. I love the cafe con leche and the people I met and the emotions. I take weeks to get used to things after trips; in those few weeks, I put in minimal effort in everything I do – work, relationships, friendships – I keep thinking it’s all temporary, transitory, and I’ll be back to that magical, wonderful place far far away. I never get used to Singapore; I simply get out of it. And so right now, I start planning a proper trip! I’ve had enough of these week- to 2-week long stints. I don’t know how to do this but I will do it. I’ll find a way somehow. I’ve proven to myself that I always find a way, and this time shall be no different. (:

Start now.

Domino.

Written: January 31, 2011

I didn’t know it back then, but making that decision to go for Soundwave ’10, which, in retrospect, seems like a pretty easy decision to make (completely different story when I was actually going through it though) would shape the next 2 years of my life.

If not for that trip, I wouldn’t have gotten that itch, that urge to live the one way I know will hardly disappoint; I wouldn’t have made that impulsive trip to Paris (/London), because I would have wanted to save money, for things…things in general. Without Australia, without Paris, without London, I wouldn’t have necessarily given much thought to traveling on my own. I wouldn’t have even THOUGHT of going to Brisbane, to visit Natalie, and hence, I wouldn’t even think of Wellington, because I barely think of New Zealand itself. Then I wouldn’t have experienced what, in my opinion, was one of the best things I could ever experience at this point in my life. I would sit and wonder about school and work and life and travel, but not actually do it. I would fantasize, and dream, and worry vaguely about money, but not have to deal with scrimping and saving (and starving and downright panicking). I would have more, financially, but I would be here, in this city, wretched and not even realizing it.

And of course, I would not even be sitting on the floor of my bedroom, netbook in front of me, with clothes strewn around me and two luggages opened, packing for my trip to Tokyo on my last day of work.

I didn’t know it back then, but that little Australian music festival changed a lot for me.