Maybe I will never come back even though my sorrow will one day disappear. I've never felt home, and never felt like I had to go anywhere and I loved it. Perhaps my sadness will never go away but never mind, I do not want to spoil the feeling. I've always been getting used to living with sadness - what's wrong with sadness? What's wrong with grief? What's wrong with the wound? After wandering for years I learned to live together with sadness, loneliness, and alienation. All that is not easy, but what can someone do in overseas? I am a wanderer, just a lazy, unrelenting traveler who travels from place to place without purpose - in vain to try to get rid of sadness.
Then, after years of traveling, I finally had a goal, or some kind of goal, at least an excuse that kept me on the journey almost without stopping except to regroup. I always go, always walk, because I always want to know something else, that I do not know, and how much beauty that exists in the vast world unfolds. I have walked from one country to another. From town to town, from village to village, out into the forest, wading through the region and gaining experience. I always travel alone, and therefore I think a lot. While looking at a scene I had never seen like a sunset, I was thinking about life. Imagining the earth lying unoccupied before, I reflect on the meaning of culture. Past the frozen snow fields, green pastures, and blue beaches, I think of man and nature.
I had crossed the seven oceans, climbed twenty mountains, explored the three deserts, and went to the remote tribal villages, yet I never felt able to stay somewhere longer. In the most comfortable, prosperous, and beautiful place I always feel anxious. There is always a new horizon that I want to achieve, from one end of the world to the other. Perhaps my home is the journey itself. I loved sleeping under a tree in the open fields, covered in straw in a cart, nodding off on a donkey, or staring up at the moon in a boat carried by a slow stream.
Thus, one day on my way I arrived in the Land of Dusk, which suddenly appeared before me after crossing a desert for two weeks. From afar, the Land of Dusk is just a black shadow of the old frosted walls of the fort. Such a castle is no longer meaningful now, let alone the castle was almost a ruin, a historical heritage that is not neglected. From afar, the Land of Dusk only appeared as a black shadow because in the background there was an enormous orange and smoldering glacial ball that filled the space, causing the sky above to be a tinge of orange with mega-mega edges that had become golden.
I was a long way from town when a number of people blew me up in the dunes.
Someone speaks fluently between nations.
"Sir, are you the one we have been waiting for?"
"Of course not, who are you waiting for?"
"We are waiting for the Horsemen from the South."
"Who is it?"
"He is the one who will save us."
"Save? Of what?"
"From everything."
I noticed them. Have they lost their minds? It was clear I was riding a camel, not a horse.
"You see, I'm not riding a horse."
"Perhaps you changed your master's horse with a camel before crossing the desert."
"Well, it's possible, but I'm not a Horseman from the South, I come from the Far East."
As I passed, I noticed a number of people looking south again. In their eyes radiated hope, but hope that has faded. What would they experience so wishing so much? Waiting for someone who can save them from anything, for years, is not an ordinary event. Who is this highly anticipated South Horseman? Who is the person who is so mighty that so hopefully will be able to save some people from something I do not know yet?
Everything was all golden when I entered the city, all red with gold because of the half-sun shine perched on the horizon. I saw the twilight light like the soft braided golden threads, from the sun directly to the window, to the wall, to the trees, and to the leaves. Like the lines, like blocks, like the poles that lay down. It was as if I had noticed that the striped light was so real, as if a solid thing could be held. But of course the light is not a solid thing and the people are hooded, sacrificed, and gloved through it so that the light is like a pool ripple that drew apart. The light becomes light and dark because of passers-by and therefore the Land of Dusk is like a city drowned in a sea of complete light. I just like a shadow running. I see my own shadow riding a camel on the city walls.
I walked through the town riding an old camel that had taken me across the desert with a salt merchant caravan. Left to the left, turning to the right, almost everything is golden. I do not see blue, I do not see green, let alone pink - everything is the colors of twilight. Color, light, and atmosphere that exist only when the sun will set. Golden walls, but lots of dark and dim room. The hallways are dingy and drowned in black shadows.
"Where are you going, sir, looking for lodging? Let me get through. I know the inn is cheap and provides meals for your camel master. Let me pass, so that today there is a piece of bread that I can eat. "
I'm so tired. Crossing the desert for two weeks is not a pleasant experience. I just gave in to the little boy who spoke the language between the broken people. He dragged my camel rope to an inn while I turned left and right with a lethargy. A sandy breeze that has been two weeks continuously befall me has not lost in this city. My face is full of dust and so are the faces of many people in this city. Everyone is like wearing powder but obviously it's not a powder. They cover their faces with a cloth that also protects their hair from the sandy wind. So everywhere I just see the eyes. That is the eye that looks sharply, gloomily, or with wonder. What can we say from an eye-view?
I breathed in the incense smell that flowed from a window. When I looked into the window, a veiled woman appeared. From behind the thin veil I saw her smile. Her's lips were so red in the light, and she was carrying a small bunch of incense.
So now the smell of staircase was mixed with the smell of incense, and the smell grew sharper ever since it seemed to flow from every window and door. The sandy wind will always remove it but the scent will always flow again. I'm drowning in a pressing mood. The people on the street did not talk much and on the street their heads were more often bowed. The bowed heads are sometimes raised to see me and I will only see the eyes of the heads. I feel I have failed to read anything from their eyes. What would they read from my eyes.
I also bowed my head so it did not look too foreign because always look to the left and right. Is the dimly lit evening light even though it is the gloom that makes the atmosphere seem oppressive? I have experienced a thousand twilight in a thousand cities and indeed twilight always gives us a feeling of vulnerability, but there seems to be something else in this city that is something, something heavy and depressing.
Actually I never knew the Land of Dusk before. I had only heard his name in a tavern when a well-traveled traveler in a familiar language was surrounded by visitors. He tells a very unbelievable thing, that the sun never sets in the Land of Dusk.
"How is that possible?"
"That's also my question, how is that possible, whereas here the sun arises and sinks as usual. Is not the sun also seen in every land of the earth? If the sun in the Land of the Twilight is indeed stuck on the horizon, it should be in another country that also never changes.
But this is not, it's only in the sunset no sun ever sets. "
"How come?"
"That's my question too, why is that?"
The Land of the Twilight is not on the map, it exists but it is not - only the wanderers who happen to be strayed to know him, and they never advocate coming there.
"There is nothing there," he said, "in addition to poverty, evil, and oppression."
"About the sun that never goes down?"
"Why?"
"No one interested in investigating it?"
"Well, the Twilight people think it's normal."
"Ordinary?"
"Yes, ordinary. They used to live like that. "
"Living with the sun never sets?"
"Life with the sun never sets."
"Does such a land really exist?"
"Natural scientists do not believe it either. They do not want to waste time looking for the Land of Dusk. But I've been there. Believe me that my story is not written. "
I also do not want to believe when I hear it. The traveler who I sometimes meet there is also a boast. But one day while sitting resting under a tree, came the salt merchant's caravan. They fill water bags made of leather. Of the number looks will travel far.
"Where are the s
Sahibs going?"
"Want to the Dusk."
Now I'm in the Land of Dusk. Tired and lethargic, I forgot about the sun's problem. Later, when I woke up, and opened the window of the ragged accommodation, then I would realize, the sun was indeed never set in the Land of Dusk.
"We're here," said the curly little boy. I just got in front of the inn. Forgive me, it seems to be too fast, though the scenery will never change. The sun burns like a metal plate in a furnace. The sun sets in half, its light burns the sky so that the sky is really burning. I sighed. I'm in the Land of Dusk. I imagine faces that will never believe if I tell it. I do not know if you'll trust me Alina - I guess I'll never know, because you never talk to me, just listen with curious eyes. But when will I ever see you again Alina, if I never know whether to ever return? Just as I never knew, or was afraid to know, whether you waited or did not wait. This is the end of my story in the twilight country.
Thank you for stopping by and reading my post
Best Regard
