home sweet home, sweet slake your thirst for familiar sleep home
until i returned to where i’ve lived since i was seven (hello grandparents hello unchanged pets hello data plan) it was not apparent to me how (solo) travel is beyond my comfort zone
my comfort zone, it seems, includes not needing to lock up my shit every single time i leave the room, not ferrying my toothbrush + toothpaste back and forth to a tiny dubious hostel sink, not living out of my backpack with clothes constantly worn and reworn, not wondering Why Did I Not Exchange More Money And Now I Can’t Buy Food
that said, there are so many other ways (besides traveling to known tourist cities in Central Europe and others) to unsettle one’s placid, self-satisfied existence
like read a radical book, watch a wild (good) film, interact with an open heart and a willing mind
imagination
it’s so funny, i’m so funny; i’m flinging all these off the pads of my fingers, when my own existence is so….
what’s the logical conclusion to this
anyway Singapore is an unbelievable home (this is not a pun on that singing video making its hahahoho rounds online)
unbelievable in the best way
i never want to leave without a return ticket in sight (unless i can contribute better from afar..)
had cherries in my hand carry from Prague to Dusseldorf to London (hung around Heathrow for about 5h) to Singapore — they survived the over-24h jostling + journeying
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