Let’s just say that i was born restless.From the time i boarded my first plane as a 6 year old kid, i never stopped thinking about my next adventure.
And let’s say i got a little greedier. No longer satisfied with short trips, the thought of long term travel embedded itself in my little brain like a harmless little tumor. As the years went by, the little brain grew ( of course) but it was quickly outpaced by the magnificent puberty spurt of the Travel Tumour. At the age of 25, it now has a life of its own, planning non-existent trips full of fleeting dream-like experiences, and anchored with enough logistical details to put my actual little brain to shame.
What this really means is that i now lead a double life. Modern psychiatry and surgery would have solved my problem but here’s the tricky bit that makes the wet dream of a medical drama producer- I do not want to be cured. *cue for 4 seconds of dramatic symphony and flashes of anguished faces*
Yes, that’s right. I love my Travel Tumour and ain’t no scalpel gonna take that away from me. I love this double life that i’m living. I relish the moments when my colleague says something completely important (to her) / banal (to me ) and I give her a glazed look because i was doing a tango in Buenos Aires while slurping ramen that would have tasted much better in Tokyo.
So how should i re-align both lives, you might ask so intelligently?
I have a plan. You see, as an analyst I can’t help indulge in a little logical thinking. Since the Travel Tumour has a far more impressive capacity to think and function than the uninfected part of the brain, I would wisely let it grow to a size where it completely engulfs the healthy part and becomes one large, powerful machine that would propel me to infinity and beyond.
I would trek Machu Pichu and milk Tibetan goats in my hippie pants and earth covered feet.
Sunset in El Nido. I would wash my earth covered feet in sea water.
Stay tuned.
-End of Story-
Tilda
