Smoky clouds loom, and a volcano erupts. Havoc breaks. Deafening roars surround as lava is spewed and gushes into all directions and elsewhere.
A minute later, it’s all calm and quiet.
The smog clears, and like a sanguine morning after a murky night, it reveals to my eyes a spectacular mural of land and water, on which life begins to thrive in almost every corner.
It is this world that I chose to explore, not as I perceive it.
You can find a faint you in my words which follow:
I do not travel wearing the shades of my perspective, as I can then see the world basking in its myriad hues and tones. I wish to comprehend the world the way it was meant to be known; hence I often spare the luggage of my perception while trudging the planet.
I do not need a reason to travel; travelling is reasonable for me. It is not merely bearing in mind holiday options, making advance bookings, concluding the paperwork and partaking a few livings off from the tedium of everyday life. To me, it is an expedition, and the voyage is my way of life.
They drew boundaries on land, but spared enough space to make a passageway for me.
They brought between seas of differences to go away from me, but erected vessels to let me touch base with them, whenever I wish to.
They distinguished themselves from me by their culture, but remained subliminally homophonic to allow me to explore their culture in a welcoming manner.
And that, my friend, is what makes my life a journey and a journey, my life.