I think deep within, there’s this huge part of me where all it wants to do is to escape from the realities of life. And it knows no better way but to travel to different parts of the earth where I can run away from my responsibilities, roles and duties. It’s clear to me the reason why I want to travel is not because I like traveling. I’m not interested in exploring different and exotic places. In fact, I dread having to search for the best deals on air tickets or accommodation. Then, it’s obvious to me the reason I yearn to travel so occasionally is because I feel the innate need to escape from all there is around me.
Ever so often is the pressure of nothing that makes me breathless. There is nothing significant going on and yet there are so many insignificant roles and responsibilities that take up so much of me. I try to find as many ways I can to distract myself from all there is but there are only so many things I can think of. Then, travel becomes the best way again because it provides me with the longest period of rest.
Of course, there is no denying that I love beautiful places but now, I’m thinking if I love beautiful places only because it allows me to once again forget myself. Maybe it allows me to throw myself into the abyss of that beautiful sight where it swallows me and allows me to forget my nonexistent troubles.
The traveller within me, I've named him Trevor, has been pestering me to travel again. This time back to where I have unfinished business, Paris. I’m dreaming of beautiful cakes and the Louvre which I didn’t get to enter the last time I was there. I’m dreaming of snow and wearing beautiful clothes and flirting with the people. I’m dreaming everything will just fall into place and POOF, I’m in Paris, with love.
