life, opinion, soul, story

My Kind of Traveling

To have set foot in another city, town, or country is never enough. Why?

Because it only increases our drive to travel more.

Don’t get me wrong. I love to travel.

I mean, who doesn’t love traveling?

Paris. London. Spain. Rio de Janeiro. Bora-Bora.Greece…the list is limitless.

Though some may deny it, we are all travelers. We are born to be travelers.

We love traveling so much to the point that we want to learn, perhaps, French so badly. Or if not, maybe Mandarin, German, or Japanese. We are so fascinated by the beauty of what these places have to offer. Their sceneries, the ambience, the experience.

Even some of us read books to dig treasures from their past. We read books to know their food, their people, their culture. And just by doing that, although we don’t have the resources to actually be able to fly towards the place, we experience a flush of fulfillment. A mental picture appears right before us, and immediately, we fill ourselves with undeniable appreciation.

In other words, we love to travel because it is a way for us to connect to the world and to others.

But can we ever be settled?

We are so engrossed about traveling, flying across oceans, and daydreaming about round-tripping the world, when there are places we ought to travel first…

And these places are found within ourselves.

There are places within us, parts which we haven’t, or perhaps, we cannot dare to explore. These places are deep within us, at cold corners, at dark pits.

Perhaps, there’s more than the mere act of traveling that increases our appetite to roam the world.

Perhaps it’s our thoughts, agitated inside our head. Contradictions in collision with one another. Confusions that lead us to divide against ourselves. And they are rooted underneath those deep, cold, dark corners of our soul.

And maybe that’s why we want to travel so badly. Maybe that’s why to set foot in a new country is never enough…because once in a while, we want to escape from all these silent tortures. Not knowing that all of these live inside us, giving us the illusion that we have successfully escaped them.

No matter how much we try to connect to the world by traveling, days pass and somehow we still end up feeling that hole in the stomach. A feeling tinged with a bit of blue, a shade of grey, and a drop of darkness.

Going back to the question, ‘can we ever be settled’, in my opinion, the answer will always be no…

Unless we close our eyes and explore every area of our soul, set foot on those cold corners, solve the puzzles, and sweep off the broken shards stacked on those pits…

Unless we learn the language of our hearts first, its desires and dreams, what it has to say, before learning the languages of the people….

Unless we travel back in time and understand our own personal histories, our own personal culture, principles, beliefs, and tendencies…

Unless we learn to appreciate our own beauty, to acknowledge our strengths, and overcome our weaknesses…

Unless we truly connect with ourselves first before others.

We are all born travelers.

And in my opinion, the only genuine kind of traveling is journeying towards to core of one’s soul…

A life-long journey in which we will ever be settled.

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poetry, prose, short story

Life of A Gardener

I am a gardener. But I have only got one flower to take care of.

Nevertheless, I consider myself a gardener.

This flower has been my companion for quite a long time now. I help her to live, to breathe, to be free. In return, she gives me the companionship I’ve prayed for so long.

She is my answered prayer.

And It is my job to make her feel the best flower among the rest.

Every morning, I greet her with words as sweet as her scent. I stand in awe the moment the sun shimmers, beams of light slowly tiptoeing from her petals down to the soil where she stands.

She is beautiful. Always.

I sprinkle her with water daily, so she may never thirst. I offer her space, the best one I could find in the house. I let her stand on the healthiest soil, and let her breathe the most soothing breeze.

I allow her friends, the bees, to visit and keep her company when I’m away…

So that she may bloom! Grow in the best way.

But it has never been easy.

She is silent.

Sometimes, I wonder what she thinks. She’s never been vocal about how she feels.

I spend hours trying to figure out what I did wrong.

“Did I give her enough water to drink? Or was it too much? Was the breeze too cold? Or too gentle as too safe?”

“Was the sun too harsh for her? Or did it hide behind the clouds to deprive my precious flower of warmth?”

“Had the bees forgotten to visit her? Had the soil become too stiff for her to dance and sway her vibrant petals?”

“Is she happy?”

Now comes the hardest part of a gardener’s life…when he becomes so absorbed with his own doubts, fears, and imperfections.

Being a gardener, I live with uncertainty…the uncertainty as to whether my flower is satisfied with my care or not…

The uncertainty as to whether she loves me the way I love her…

The uncertainty as to when she decides to lift her feet to fly with the wind

Or to bend down, to die.

To leave and wave goodbye.

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Uncategorized

9 Legitimate Reasons To Never Date A Writer

Thought Catalog

Flickr / JulienDft_PhotoFlickr / JulienDft_Photo

1. When you break their heart they will write about it.

Maybe with rage filled spite, maybe with beautiful poetical prose, but know this, they will write about it.

2. They might subtly reveal personal details of your relationship in their writing.

Whether it’s a fight you had last weekend, or a beautiful memory they will cherish for years to come, they would never explicitly reveal names of people or places, but you know what they’re writing about, and I’m sure you’re not the only one who does.

3. They are inspired by their own life, but your life as well.

If a writer’s significant other is going through some turmoil, they will most likely be inspired to write about it. Their inspiration does not fold, especially not at your expense.

4. They will write you as one of their fictional characters.

And could possibly become a…

View original post 248 more words

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poetry, prose

Human Heart

What heart withdraws from pain and suffering?

What heart tells you to stop striving?

What heart screams “Enough is enough!”

“…It’s time to give up.” ?

“Well then, why should I listen to my heart?”

“Because you will never again be able to keep it quiet. Even if you pretend not to have heard what it tells you, it will always be there inside you, repeating to you what you’re thinking about life and about the world”

A dialogue between Santiago and the Alchemist

(from The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho)

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poetry, prose

Wind

Ah! The Wind.

I have always envied the Wind.

He has the power to make the trees sway, and lead the entire forest into an opera.

He empowers the seas to give birth to the strongest waves.

He is bathed with the scent of success and victory of all men.

But most of all,

He sneaks in with his gentle surprises through her window.

He can stroke her hair while she lays on her hammock.

He can fill her with kisses from her head down to her heels.

And that always makes her feel happier, freer, even more alive than ever…

The way I know I never can.

— Inspired by Paulo Coelho’s Master Work, “The Alchemist” —

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