Lisa Niver's Blog: We Said Go Travel, page 316

Costa Rica: Can’t see the forest for the tunes

When she announced to my sister and me that we were going on a family vacation to Costa Rica, our mother didn’t lead with the possibility of seeing the still-active Arenal Vocano glowing in the evenings, nor the country’s vivid wildlife, nor even the opportunity to learn to surf on the beaches of Tamarindo. Instead, because the mere thought of our renting a car to transverse the knotty roads though the rain forest gave her the vapors, mom’s take on the novelty of our all-girls holiday was to be found in these two words: “private driver.”

 

Thus it was that the three of us we were buckled into a large mini-van by Alejandro, the cheerful driver charged with taking us the 4 hour drive from landlocked La Fortuna to the Pacific coast. As the road climbed up and down around Lake Arenal, our itinerary promised sweeping vistas of green and blue, plummeting waterfalls, and the occasional glimpse of a monkey or sloth.

 

But Alejandro had other plans for amusing his guests. Once we were away, he pressed a button extending a small screen from the van’s ceiling. Picked up from the airport in a similar van a few days earlier, we’d watched a welcome video offering us a few useful phrases in Costa Rican Spanish, and assumed we were in for more of the same. We continued to stare out the windows with our cameras in hand, reveling in the equatorial landscape and scrutinizing the tops of tall trees for swinging mammalian shapes.

 

Then Wham’s “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” flooded the speakers, and George Michael’s 80’s pompadour filled the screen on the van’s ceiling. The hairdo had pulsed through only a single chorus before it was replaced by Blondie’s Debbie Harry urging “Call Me,” a sentiment barely uttered before it was replaced by Cindy Lauper’s maxim that “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” We stopped looking for sloths.

 

Over the next 3 hours, as our van chugged its way though the ends of the rainforest, past farms and fields and the provincial capital of Liberia, the Costa Rican scenery competed with singing along to the best of English New Wave. The Human League, Culture Club, and Modern English all took their brief turns, punctuated occasionally by Meat Loaf or Celine Dion telling us that their hearts will go on or that they’d do anything for love.

 

And, conducted by our trusty private driver, we sang through it all. The tourist’s incongruities were palpable: instead of properly appreciating colonial architecture, we belted out “we’re only human – born to make mistakes”; instead of stopping to explore small villages in the 90 degree heat, we crooned “we’ll stop the world and melt with you” from the comforts of our air-conditioned minivan. In favor of bopping along to “Karma Chameleon,” we missed countless opportunities to spot local reptiles clinging to the trees.

 

We perhaps did not do justice to the beauties of Costa Rica in that four-hour drive. But mom was right – that private driver was worth every penny.

 

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A little piece of paradise in the USA

The place I have chosen to write about is Rincon, Puerto Rico, USA.  My husband and I have been coming to Rincon for over thirty years.  We have brought our children here and look forward to bringing our grandchildren.  It is a small piece of paradise.  An area with simple people and beautiful resources.  This is an island surrounded by beautiful beaches, palm trees, natural wildlife, rainforests and tropical overgrowth.  The people of Rincon are friendly, accomodating and not commercialized.  Life on this side of the island is simple yet abundant in beautiful color, flowers and wildlife.

As surf enthusiasts, we look forward to indulging in our favorite sport.  There is vast variety of local beaches and something for everyone.  There are beaches that boast larger than life waves and beaches that offer the calm, tranquil waters, equivalent to a lake.  The beaches are vast, yet mostly vacant.

I feel as though we have uncovered a small hidden gem in this vacation hideaway.  A place where we can escape and get back into tune with mother nature.

Like so many tropical hideaways, Rincon offers the visitor many options.  You can zipline through the rainforests, you can take a canoe ride through the luminescent bay.  You can party at one of the local bars, or you can simply sit on the beach and take in the breathtaking sunset each and every night.

The island offers accomondations that can fit into anyone’s lifestyle.  There are five star resorts that are fit for the “rich and famous” and small inns that are both affordable and modest.

My family has taken such a liking for this spot that we have purchased a piece of land.  It is our dream som day to build our own little piece of home here.  A place where we can visit and stay and a place that will always stay within our family.

Rincon offers a variety of fantastic restaurants for evey travelers pocket book.  From the lavish restaurants to the side street bodegas, there is truly something for everyone.

So take this advice from our family, not your typical world travelers. just your average family traveling on an average budget.  Research the place, pick where you would feel comfortable in staying and just go.  You will not be disappointed and most likely will be pleasantly surprised.

 

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India freed me

India.

First stop: Goa.

On my 3rd day in Goa, something significant happened- I lost the backplate of the locket I had been carrying which said ‘I carry your heart in my heart’. The locket was in memory of the baby I couldnt keep, but couldnt let go of in my heart. Other than this one ocassion, my locket has never come undone and despite the gems inside being very small, I found them straight away. I hadnt come to India for a spiritual realisation, but I did find it strange that I was so calm and I did feel a sudden urge to say goodbye. For whatever reason, that night I lit a lantern for my babygirl, I took the angel wings out of my locket, attached it to the lantern and set it off. It was as though she was saying to me ‘you dont have to carry me around anymore’. Her father who had once been my soulmate and best friend was also somewhere in India, but not on talking terms with me, so I didnt know where. I whispered as the lantern took off ‘you can probably see your daddy too-wave goodbye.We love you.’

 

Second stop: Hampi.

On my first day in Hampi, I walked to the Virupaksha temple in tears. There was no logical reason for my tears, but I was standing in the ruins of a place which had once been so prosperous and rich, but was now literally, rubble. Everyone was lost in how beautiful it is now and all I could think about is how it must have been before it fell. On my 2nd day in Hampi, I began climbing it’s famous boulders to watch the sunset. I almost gave up, but a lady who was also on her way up encouraged me to continue. When I got to the top, it was so worth it. I realised two things- 1. This was my life now. Seeing beautiful places, surrounded by amazing people. What ‘could have been’ had disappeared and the reality was now. I had to live it the fullest I could. 2. If I had have given up at the bottom of the boulder, I’d have missed out on one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. I wouldn’t have seen that sunset and I wouldnt have learned that the lady Id met at the bottom was more than 20 years older than me and had sold her house in Canada to travel- no plans, no fallbacks, just a dream and a backpack of courage.

 

This was the beginning of my journey in India. The two moments I have shared were the two points at which I 1.let go and 2.decided to move on without fear. At every step of the way throughout my time in India, I was met with encouragement and inspiration; From the local people, from the backpackers and tourists around me, from the children and the adults. I cannot explain it in a million words, let alone 500, but something about India is magical. It seems as though everywhere you go, there is beauty right in front of you, in every form you can imagine, its almost overwhelming. The paradox of poverty and rich land is astounding and the kindness of people breathtaking. Everyone works hard, everyone smiles. Back home, I have ‘anxiety disorder’, ‘agoraphobia’ and ‘muscle and nerve damage’ listed as reasons why I havent been able to leave the house, take a bus, stay on my feet too long or carry anything. In India, I walked miles, took sleeper buses alone and carried my backpack across rice fields and up stairs. I faced my fears of bikes and of getting ill abroad. I lost sentimental things and learnt to be okay. I spent Ghandi day in the mountains of Tamil Nadu and by pure chance, was welcomed into a temple, taught how to pray during a service and blessed. I definitely returned home a different person, with true freedom. I thought I was free before but the truth was I didnt know how to face myself and my own fears regularly prevented me from experiencing life as fully as I could have otherwise. I noticed when I got home from this trip, I was jumping feet first into situations I’d usually avoid. I suddenly thrived on things I found challenging or that scared me and the more I proved to myself I can do things, the more I realised its all just in my head and always has been. I had become brave. Seeing all those people of all creeds working hard, defying odds and chasing dreams changed my life forever. Thank you India.

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Nigeria :A Place That Inspires You To Be Brave.

Nigeria: A place that inspires you to be brave.

ABSTRACT-

Empirical studies of the sources of inspiration incontrovertibly subscribe to the assertion that mankind derives inspiration either from “the forces of society” or from “the forces of the wild”.

In this essay we have tried to highlight inspiration as constituting God’s act of honouring the words of his prophets, while adding our endorsement of the fact that he is indeed a place and a person upon which one could challenge difficult situations with courage.

INTRODUCTION

One of the major problems confronting enterprising men and women worldwide is that of finding a place to anchor their “inspiration”. This is even further compounded by the proliferation of perceived sources of inspiration. For instance, while the Beatles of Blessed memory had a thriving musical career hinged on the Hare Krishna Mantra, a fledgeling 21st Century Musician in faraway Jamaica derives his inspiration from “illicit-drugs”.

DEFINITION OF INDEX TERMS

In his notes and comments on the meaning of particular concepts of the Bible, Dake did define “inspiration” as constituting God’s act of “putting words in the mouths of prophets and being with them in all they say”.

Wikipedia, the free encyclopaedia defines “place” as “an area with definite or indefinite boundaries or a portion of space which has a name in an area”.

Dictionary definition of the word “brave” derived from Vocabulary.com interprets it as one that is being “courageous, dauntless, perhaps a little bit daring, a person who is brave faces dangerous or difficult situations with courage”.

Deductively, one is by this Essay -“Inspiration: A place that inspires you to be brave” expected to establish how the words that I speak are honoured by God and constitute a locale upon which I “face dangerous or difficult situations with courage.”

HOW GOD HONOURS THE WORDS THAT I SPEAK AND USES THEM AS THE LOCALE FOR COURAGEOUSLY OVERCOMING DIFFICULT SITUATIONS

The earliest acquaintance I had with the Holy Spirit was in a dream environment; way back in the late seventies. The scenario had me in the company of my friends. We were on our way to watch a wrestling match in a nearby community, when the foot-path we chose suddenly ended in front of a mud-hut, where an old man with paralysed limbs was seated.

As soon as the old man saw me, he started weeping and cautioned that “there is nothing greater than humility in this world”. He asked me to look at him very well; and that he was once one of the greatest wrestlers in the world, but today he cannot even jump across a gutter. I responded by inquiring who he was but he growled at me and disappeared. My friends who were with me questioned the rationale for my questioning the old man and decided to go back. I was left alone “with no friends”; the old man had since disappeared, the only thing left was the mud-hut, which suddenly shifted aside and revealed a straight road which I followed. As I stepped into the road hands came from the sky from behind me and blessed me saying: “I have given you everything; do not look for trouble”.

Ever since, I have come to see the Holy Spirit as a “person” as well as a “locale” upon whom declarations could be made that would bring succour to hitherto perturbed people. Two examples would suffice.

Mrs Okure’s case was in Akwa Ibom State. She had revealed to me on a Friday that she was living under the same roof with her husband but denied marital relationship with him. I declared in the name of Jesus Christ that their relationship would resume at the weekend; and it was so.

Mr. Shobambi’s case was in Abuja. He was incapacitated to do his work as a Set Designer on account of his being too full in his stomach and unable to excrete. I declared in the name of Jesus that he would instantly be relieved of the anomaly; and it was so. He instantly vomited and immediately resumed work on the Set.

CONCLUSION

From the foregoing one cannot help but conclude that my declarations in the name of Jesus have always been honoured by way of prompt restoration of hitherto pitiable conditions. In line with the definition of “inspiration: a place that inspires you to be brave”, God has not failed me but consistently stood by my “declarations” in his name and guaranteed fulfilment. He is indeed a person and a place upon which I could challenge and overcome “difficult situations” with courage.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Gratitude Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

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Brazilian Problemsolving and a hero

 

Brazilian Problemsolving anda hero

 

Everyone of us could be a hero. Each person has a unique gene pool with their own strengths and weaknesses. With this idea set in mind, I went off to lead a summercamp. A summercamp where I hoped to be a fun leader that would be respected and loved.

 

As I set off with my delegation across the Atlantic Ocean to São Paulo, I thought about the children of all kinds of different races that I would meet. The different cultures from all these countries that I would try to understand. Together with all the other the children and the leaders and staff, we would make this place our home for a couple of weeks. I found this quite soothing. My ‘own’ kids weren’t anxious either, for they were excited to meet everyone and make friends. Well, there was no problem with there at all. Within a day, friends were made and laughter from all around the world came together. As if they knew one another all along. The kids got to know eachother through singing, games, discussion, theater and mutual hobbies.

 

When times were good, the kids only required assistance, but as life was not always sunshines and rainbows, the inevitable clouds sometimes appeared. So on these somewhat rare unasked for occasions I was needed and pulled up my sleeves and showed my capabilities.

 

Problemsolving. Sometimes, it’s easy and sometimes it’s difficult. But as every grown up relates to this word to a certain extend, how come we can never know enough about this topic? It got me thinking about when someone solves a problem. Does this make this person a hero? Or do you need to pull off something historically influential like Abraham Lincoln, Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King or Isaac Newton to be called a hero?

 

Back in the camp I was confronted with several problems, that needed to be dealt with. One more important or visible than the other. Everyone seemed delighted when supper was ready to be set onto the table, because it had direct impact. A few people were happy when a disagreement was cleared up, that was about to get out of hand. Luckily most of my time in the camp, I did see sunshines and rainbows and invested this precious time to push my limits to encourage kids to speak up their mind and not to worry for they’ll be loved unconditionally. Display that democracy goes hand in hand with chores, laughter and singing. I let the kids think about the world, because prejudice is not yet in their dictionary, and listen to them eagerly. Listen to the dreams, the asperations to what they have in mind for the future, for they have an unlimited imagination. The part where I tried let everyones voice be heard was considerably challenging. But my aspiration was that not only to hear the social, opinionated children, but also to let the the shy or bullied young ones be able to speak up.

 

Think about the story of the fisherman; It’s okay to give the famished fisherman fish, but wouldn’t it be much better to teach him how to fish? Giving children an opportunity to raise their own voice and let them be their own hero, is what benefits their growth.

 

And as my summercamp came to an end, my dream of making a difference came true. The girl, who was most shy and passive, and instead of being interactive, she was always following the herd, started to behave differently. Out of nowhere she was coordinating her group to perform a play. She came up with ideas, spoke her mind and argued to defend her opinion. The world gained a new voice.

This turning point brings my story to an end. My view of what heroism might be, has been changed. Because, yes, it’s advisable to listen to the teacher, because often he is right. Yes, it’s good to read about people who made a difference in the world to gain knowledge. But as the world shifts quickly, we need people to think for themselves and be brave to speak their mind. Let children prosper in to the resemblance of their hero to become a their own hero.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Gratitude Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

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It’s between you and the stars in Botswana

The zebra’s skull was picked clean of flesh, its half-buried bones gleaming in the sunlight. White on white, it lays camoflaged on the desert floor. In another place I might have walked past without noticing. But not here in this bleak expanse of land. When all around there is nothing, the zebra becomes impossible to miss.

I’m visiting the salt plains of North-Eastern Botswana. They’re the long dried-up remains of Lake Makgadikgadi; a body of water so vast it once covered an area the size of Switzerland. Now, in the harsh dry season, all that’s left is an otherworldly expanse of salt, stretching on until the horizon. So flat, you can see the curvature of the Earth. Rotating slowly on the spot, my view doesn’t change. We’re the only things out here; me, my group and a long dead Zebra’s skull.

The plan is to sleep out in the open tonight; no tent, just a sleeping bag under the stars. Sitting high on the back of our dusty pick-up truck, we watch our guide start to build a fire using wood he brought along himself. Our backdrop gradually morphs from blue to orange. Then, as the sun takes its final bow, we’re plunged into darkness.

A few moments pass then, one by one, flecks of light are born out of the shadows. Scarcely any at first but, as our eyes adjust, hundreds more appear, replaced by thousands and then… the universe reveals itself to us.

I take my sleeping bag and begin to walk away across the barren lunar landscape. Away from my friends and our guide. Away from all distractions. This is not a time to be shared. This is a time to be alone, just me and my thoughts.

I keep going until the camp fire becomes no more than a candle. Then I lay down in my sleeping bag on the hardened ground, pulling the hood up until just my face is exposed to the cold night air. The only sound is the wind blowing in from the neighbouring Kalahari desert. I gaze up at a sky so clear I can see satellites tracking their way across the heavens. I don’t remember the last time I was ever alone like this, or if I ever have been; a solitary figure under a blanket of stars.

Lost in a mesmerising tranquility, my mind begins to wander. Thoughts creep in; some good, some bad. Some that I’ve kept locked away for a long time. They dart into my mind like the shooting stars above. Questions I’ve been too scared to ask myself keep coming and I have nothing to distract myself from the answers.

I believe you are your own worse critic but, as terrifying as it is, sometimes you have to face yourself. That’s why, under the endless sweep of the Milky Way, I let myself be judged, with only the stars to witness.

Dawn’s light awakens me. A bright orange band is already creeping up the sky as a new day starts. Little black mounds slowly appear out of the darkness around me; my friends in their sleeping bags, embracing their own moment of solitude. I wiggle out of my cocoon, now caked in white. Inside I feel different, happy, content… I gather up my things and walk back to join my group. In a place of nothing, I’m leaving with something.

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Laos and Thailand adventure

It turns out that kayaking for 12 dollars included a few other things in Vang Vieng. We started by going through a cave. Not just your ordinary cave, it’s kind of hard to explain. We got in mini tubes and entered the cave floating on water. We pulled ourselves through the cave using rope that is tied to the wall. The gap from the water to the roof of the cave is on average 4-7 feet so it was super claustrophobic. Really cool experience though, felt like I was some kind of cave explorer guy or something. Our group was a bunch of extremely European French guys wearing speedos and they reminded me of our group of friends, they even had a guy called Omár that they all made fun of like Danny. After that we trekked to the Elephant cave and ate lunch which consisted of kebabs and rice. Then we got into kayaks and went down the river, stopped at a few outdoor bars and played volleyball. We went back to Vang Vieng and went for dinner. Later that night we went to our usual spot, Gary’s Irish pub and met two nice Dutch girls from Holland, named Unicorn and Anook. I’m still not sure if that was their real names. We finally made it back to our hotel around 2:00 a.m. We planned to go tubing with the girls at 11:30 but we slept in. We spent the day mostly watching “How I Met Your Mother” in the Central Backpackers lobby for hours, eating, playing ping pong, Alex breaking the table, and more eating.

 

While in Laos I ate sticky rice with every meal, sometimes every day. It is incredibly good and I’m going to sorely miss it. The other thing incredibly good here are the street vendor pancakes with Nutella and banana! We’ve been eating a lot of those as well as stir fried chicken with cashew and vegetables a lot. My stomachs been okay until yesterday. Also the actual physical travelling ended up being very expensive and we had to buy 110+ dollar plane tickets to Phuket because it was just as much money to take two buses and a boat to get there, and took an hour instead of 2 days. Unfortunately at this point I need you guys to somehow figure out how to cash my cheque that dad hopefully picked up at the beginning of the month because I am not going to have enough money. Thailand has been much more expensive than Laos, especially for hotels, it’s difficult to even find 20 bed fan dorm rooms for less than 10 dollars a night. Thailand is also much more busy and overwhelming than Laos, no matter where you are, and the only laws that exist are drug laws and theft. Here you often see up to 4 people on a single motorbike, babies or adults or kids, no helmets and doing 110 km’s on the highway. The most surprising thing to me is that there are almost no accidents and I’ve only seen 4 ambulances in total since being here. I almost wish I lived here, it makes home seem like a pathetic joke with a bunch of stupid laws and everyone worrying too much about everything and spending ridiculous amounts of money on things that cost 10 cents to make in sweatshops.

 

However to end this email on a positive note, it is nothing like anyone made it out to be here. I have not once felt like I was in any kind of danger, (except for one cab driver who broke 200 km/hr on the highway and was swerving between cars). But other than that the only overwhelming thing is that EVERYONE and ANYONE wants to sell you something. Yesterday at a street vendor they were selling 6 inch knives, brass spiked knuckles, and legitimate ninja shurikens. It’s incredible to me how different the culture is, how they realize that violence isn’t necessary, respect exists here instead of just admiring all the rich old white guys at home living on the ridge in Edgemont. Even simple things like not breaking arcade machines, or trying to seem tough by wearing your hat sideways staring everyone down because you think you are a badass, and getting tribal tattoos.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Gratitude Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

 

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Among the people who planted trees, Costa Rica

Among the people who planted trees, Costa Rica

A woman is working for an international organization in Geneva and married to a great scientist based at CERN. She feels happy, living a dream. One day waking up she learns that the marriage is over. There is a suitcase at the door and another woman taking her husband away. The whole world seems to fall apart. What happens next? A memoir of braveness by Lubi Guindon

I thought this is the end. The end of my life, the end of the world, of everything. Days would pass like high speed cars on a highway. I was a ghost rider with nowhere to go. Waiting for a green signal. And one day it came. The greenest signal of all, in the form of a volunteering opportunity in Costa Rica.  I collected my brave broken pieces of heart and said yes. It took about six months to prepare my Slovak family, my mom, sister and her little children for the fact that I am packing a backpack and going to plant trees in Costa Rica for a year. The first step of braveness when you present a big decision to your family knowing they have a completely different idea about your life and will think you are crazy.

On the plane, I kept repeating to myself, I am flying to Costa Rica. I am moving there. It is happening, it is real. I arrived in the middle of the rain season. San José was busy dirty and loud, just like any other bigger city. No sign of trees or forests. Neither of my backpack which didn’t make the connection in Madrid.

But I had everything I needed; bravery, clear and peaceful mind and openness to every person, situation or place I will encounter. In fact, I had no idea what to expect! The place I would start calling home was Hojancha, a well-hidden jewel surrounded by hills and forests. It was a small town, more of a community where everyone knows everyone and nothing extraordinary ever happens, on the first sight. As I soon learnt, about 30 years ago there was almost no tree! Hard to imagine that people seeing their drying streams of water would come together to plant trees. And they continued for many years passing on the story of their lives.

They created the paradise with their own actions. When life got hard, water scarce and sun too hot, many decided to run away to bigger cities, but those who stayed put hands together and got to  work. They were the actors on the stage performing a dramatic shadow theatre play of trees. And the life continued to roll its wheels. Only their smiles got bigger when they would sit down in the evenings to tell the story of planting trees in Monte Alto hills.

Everywhere I went I was thinking of trees. There were so many varieties, most beautiful flowers, fruits and butterflies. One couldn’t learn all their names. Each tree had its own story. Each could tell seeds of wisdom in peoples hearts if they only listen to its whispers. The seasons were changing.

It was amazing to experience the strength and power of the story of Hojancha.  With every sip of water coming from the reforested hills, I felt more brave in my life. I could do anything. My indigenous mentor in Costa Rica who spent his entire life planting trees once told me “Those who wash their hands with soil, remain clean.”  I carried the words in my heart when running through the forests of Hojancha.

With more time passing, I got caught between two worlds. The New and Old Continent. It takes courage and a brave heart to heal and choose a new life. Take the step into new unknown future. But between planting trees and listening to the rain and wind dancing in their canopies. I was peaceful, daydreaming about all the possibilities, my life may bring. My new life only began. I was brave once and it inspired my new seed in my soul to grow. And as the main hero of the story, I wouldn’t wish to change it for anything else. I was on the road less traveled but it led me to the most beautiful places within. Once I got lost in the forest but discover a treasure.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Gratitude Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

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Stuck in a Bedroom in the USA

“What colors do you want your room painted?” my dad asked me when I was in 5th grade. I could have picked pink or gray or anything in between, but I’m just going to assume I was colorblind back then because I responded with green and purple, noting that I have a peach colored carpet. I think we can all conclude that I should not aspire to be an interior designer. Though the colors did not go well together, my room slowly became a piece of art that I stayed in from the time I got home from school until the time I had to go back to school.

My room is me. The bookcase shows my love for words, and the piano shows my love for music. There are pictures all over my wall of the people I love and the friends that have become strangers. The clothes scattered all over my floor and the dishes on my nightstand show my messy habits and love of chaos, and the pictures my nieces and nephews drew that are taped to my wall shows my appreciation for the artistic genius that is in every child. But then there’s this quote on my wall. In big letters it says, “We are torn between nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known” (McCullers). This bedroom that has become my utopia, is an escape from the familiar world I’ve known. My room hears me scream songs at the top of my lungs and try dance moves that should never be seen in public. This bedroom has been my only stage, but now I must go find my Madison Square Garden. Even though this piece of art I spend most of my time in is Heaven on Earth, there’s another paradise waiting out there for me. I have no guilt for the life I have lived so far, but I have no guilt for the one I want to live. Whether it’s Venice or San Francisco, I can hear the place calling my name, whispering in my ear. I long for something more than just my bedroom, than just Pottstown, Pennsylvania. This room is like a best friend I feel obligated to never leave, but this room also inspires me to step out of my comfort zone. It reminds me of the adventures waiting to happen, and it reminds me of those rare moments where you feel infinite and that every cell in your body is made of the strength that holds the planet together. I have been a princess, waiting for the prince to save me from boredom and take me on an unprecedented adventure. Now the pictures on my wall and the books are collecting dust, inspiring me to be my own hero, to be my own prince. I’m homesick for the place I have not yet known, and I want to step into rebellion because that’s what travel is. Travelling is rebellion and freedom in its purest form, and I am ready to answer to that whisper in my ear.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Gratitude Travel Writing competition and tell your story.

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