A friend is currently in Hong Kong for a solitary adventure that, I'm sure, will eventually appear on his travel blog. Another one, a classmate in high school, will be "communing with nature" in Bakun, Benguet, this weekend. In her latest blog, erstwhile officemate Nikka Corsino talked about her "three-day solo sojourns" to a Malaysian beach to watch the "melancholic, but no less majestic" rising of the sun.
And here I am at home on a Friday night, listening to Twisted Sister at low volume, slightly hungover, pissed at the humidity, thinking, Does it get any better than this?
Sure, I've a loving family, a nice home, a steady job. A lot of people would gladly exchange places with me for those. And for that I can't say much about how thankful I am for being blessed like that. But still, I'll be the world's biggest liar if I say I'm cruising along a life of comfort and security. That I got pretty much everything made up. No. Fact is, despite everything, I'm still gnawed up with insecurities and worries. My head feels heavy, cluttered. I feel, dare I say, burnt out. And that, I think, is why the urge to go out there and explore the world is becoming more and more powerful with each passing day. So powerful it is maddening. Especially since I can't seem to figure out what's stopping me from throwing all my things in a backpack and doing a Kerouac.
Ala Paredes, in her latest blog, mentioned people who seem to have a "complete lack of wanderlust." She said these people "stay stationary their entire lives, living within the vicinity of the place they were born, and don't even own a passport." She said these people "just don't see the value in travel." I don't consider myself as among those people, but here I am, chained to my daily routine, complaining almost everyday and yet doing nothing about it. What happened?
I no longer believe it's a money and schedule issue. Though I'm not a big earner and toil nine hours a day five days a week (no holidays), an out of town hiatus could be as easy as saving up for a month or two, and then filing a leave of absence for, say, five days. Both doable. So why am I stuck with the same old, same old? Beats me. I've an idea, but it's too depressing and complicated to write down here, and I don't think I've the energy for it now, and this blog has gone on long enough for it to be of anything more than the mad ramblings of a bored blogger on a Friday night.
But I still miss the ocean. The mighty roar of the waves as they crash on the shores. The sunsets and the sunrises. The bonfire and the decadence dance as I suck the very nectar of life to the last drop...
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Image by Nikka Corsino
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