There are days when I miss traveling. And this is just one of those days when I'm thinking about being out there again on my own. Oh, the promise of adventure, sweetness. A few days ago I was watching this Japanese documentary where old people were being interviewed in a small restaurant somewhere in the city. I watched people as they deliciously sipped their Ramen while conversing with one other. They seem to have found their home. I listened to what they were saying while I scanned the unfamiliar surrounding. People huddled together in a communal table with all the unfamiliar condiments. Japanese writings on the wall. I miss this. I mean not Japan because I haven't been to this country, not that I'm planning to be there. While everyone else sticks to the familiarity of everything, I'm chasing the unfamiliarity of everything. You know me. I crave excitement and adventure. Because there's nothing like the feeling of being in a strange land again and savoring each and every new thing.
I guess I've become too comfortable in my domesticity. I admit I like it now. I'm safe here with all the familiar places and familiar people to talk to. Deep down, I'm scared that I will stagnate in the all-too-comfortable and all-too-safe. But remembering my days on the road, I know how hard it can be. How hard it can be trying not to think of anything else but the moment. Where to go next? Who to meet next? What to do next? Not knowing can be exciting and stressful at the same time.
Is the comfort of my domesticity the end of my adventure? All I know is that I cannot stay in one place for a long time, or in one state or in one life. When I'm here I want to be there. I heard from this movie that I was watching yesterday, it's called chronic dissatisfaction. That scene when the character was about to leave a place and the people again. Es una enfermedad? It hit me. If this is the only way to give my life some meaning in this meaningless world, then I don't care if it's a sickness.
How can I balance both the comfort of domesticity and the wildness of adventure? I think it's hard to even think of having both. I'm quite impulsive. If only I have the means right now, I'm off somewhere again. Never to return. But I know I can't. This is not the right time to give my life new meaning by braving the unknown. It's time to think about the future if I even have it.
So today I decided to write without even thinking about what to write. Without the pressure to impress or anything. Not for the sake of being productive or just to get up and do something. Some kind of motivation or to satisfy me. I just want to let the words flow out of my mind whatever will come out. Surprisingly look, a lot of things are coming out now. You don't have to read this. I may have a lot in my mind that doesn't even make sense. I just want to free myself from these nagging thoughts of dissatisfaction.
I only start to think about adventures when I feel trapped. I try hard not to stay I'm bored. I don't even want to say I'm trapped. I choose my life. I always do. With all the million things to do, with or without means, to feel bored is a mortal sin. Even in my domesticity, there are still pending things to do. Walking on the beach, watching the sunset, listening to the pouring rain, reading, writing and thinking. This is the best time to think.
And I forgot to even include earning. Hmmm, earning money to afford this comfort. I am not earning that much now and that's why I'm not ready for adventures. The idea seems far-fetched. I'm probably one of those cursed by the society. Not participating in the rat race and all that but instead, trying to think about something else to do besides that. I'm happier this way. I guess. Nobody owns me. I am free to go and not to go. For as long as I live.