Saturday, 12 July 2014

Wanderlust.



'Wanderlust'
ˈwɒndəlʌst/

(noun): A strong desire to travel, a resolute impulse to wander and rove around.

Wanderlust is an all consuming metaphorical wave. It invades your being, coating each and every cell and nerve and every electrical impulse flowing through your body with this resolute desire. To backpack across Thailand. To camp out under the stars in California. To ride around Italy on a mint green moped and eat pizza, lots of pizza. 

I'm often overwhelmed this exact all-consuming, sudden desire to drive to the airport, buy tickets for a destination chosen by a game of 'Eeanie meanie miney mo' and spend as long as I like immersing myself in the culture (which would probably result in a case of severe Delhi-Belly). But. There are 6 big 'buts':

1) I'm 14
2) Hence by law I need to go to school
4) Hence I do not have a job
5) Hence I am reliant on the 'Bank of Dad'

Hence, it's not going to happen. But a girl can still dream, right? Despite how romantic and spontaneous it may sound, knowing my luck I would end up in the likes of Syria and never return home again.

It's often said that life is all about finding a compromise. I've trawled the earth (or so I wish-how punny am I) for this middle ground. But like the moment when you realise your sunglasses have been sitting atop of your head for the last hour whereby you've been frantically searching for them - the real middle ground has been laying under my nose (or atop my head) all of this time.

I've satisfied my cravings of wanderlust subconsciously through reading. As it is the case in a plentiful array of books and films, one second lasts a century in another dimension. With a book in hand, I can travel around the world and the outer realms of universes in a single sitting. I have not only travelled around the world on high end drug scandals, third-wheeled on more than a few chick-flick romantic escapes and camped out in the most bizarre places, but I have travelled outside of our little blue and green sphere that is earth. I have lived in different worlds entirely, universes just as complex as our own, entwined with their own problems, hopes and dreams.

Stephan Chbosky said in 'The Perks of being a Wallflower, "Sometimes, I read a book, and I think I am the people in the book". But the truth is that I know that I am the people in the book. I invade their thoughts, escape into the deepest depths of their minds like a gleeful runaway train and pitch my tent of imagination in the midst of their soul. I become the person. I experience their experiences, each belly-flopping drop of their emotional roller coasters to the moment their heart contracts knowing which side they truly want when they flip a decision-making coin.

As I once said in this post, when you read, "the real world evaporates, leaving you in a magical and beautifully exhausting realm with only fictional characters to bring you the true joys in life." In short, books are magical portals more powerful than Gatwick, Heathrow or Stanstead. I don't need a private plane, a penny pot as deep as Mary Poppins' bag, nor spontaneous midnight escapades. All I need is a little unassuming bookshop and cafe with beanbags and I can whisk myself off to unimaginable places.

But those words bound in their millions will only go so far to fuel my cravings of wanderlust. I want real experiences. Experiences that burn an imprint onto my millions of unassuming cells that make up my body and alight a roaring fire of emotion and nostalgia when thought about. I want to feel this exact fire pit of passion and gratefulness rumble in the depths of my being, acting as a constant fuel of motivation to keep on living. I want to reminisce with friends in years to come and fill the room with the kind of rare, deep, genuine laughter forced from the back of your throat. I want to lose my bags in a random airport. I want to write beautiful letters home decorated with awkward-the-bus-stopped-too-quickly coffee stains and scented with perfume.

I want the culture. The friendships. The memories. I want to absorb all of these experiences and lock them away in a precious treasure chess right below my heart. 

I want to travel to wherever my dart lands on a map. That dart is any experience life throws at me and the map itself is life. I have a sudden urge to take each day as though it is my last - to navigate life as one big exciting map. I know that I'll get lost. I know I will take a wrong turning. But I do know that I won't give up.









Find me (not literally of course):


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