Into the Wild

“I read somewhere... how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong... but to feel strong."

Photograph by Norman Parkinson, 1971

There is something about coming home. Every time that I am here, no matter after how long or for how long, this place lets me breathe, makes me feel many more emotions. My mom says it’s the lack of activity, but I think not running against the clock for once transforms me into something more alive and real.

Now that I have the time, I look back at the last two months that sprinted past in a blur. From being terribly delighted to breaking down in sorrow, from meeting the nicest of people to the realization that some were done playing their roles in my life: I would say I experienced a slice of Life in the last two months and how. However, as I write this, I feel tad bit proud, tad bit happy for having survived through all of it.

It’s optimistic how we start every chapter of our life believing that everything is possible. We believe that distances can be dealt with; we believe that some conversations can be made forever, and we believe that it’s all going to last. But as we begin to end one chapter and start another, we face reality; console ourselves, sigh and try to move on. Except, we rarely ever learn.

Hope. We human beings never cease to hope. But perhaps that’s what keeps us going.

Well, this is why we all need to get away once in a while. We ought to remind ourselves that people do live for hundred odd years and these blues at twenty are not so bad after all.

Amidst the cold rains, mountains and forests, I am going to try and do just that.

 "There is a pleasure in the pathless woods;

 There is a rapture on the lonely shore;

 There is society, where none intrudes,

 By the deep sea, and music in its roar;

 I love not man the less, but Nature more... "

- Lord Byron