What is travel to me?

Travel is detachment from routine. I live according to my optimized schedule and boundaries. Settling in my newly adjusted life, I made a new daily plan for efficient time consuming. I move within the circle that I have drawn, weaving things around me in order of priority.



I stand on the personalized stage in the castle that I made myself. At first, I seem to rule my town, looking at what’s happening inside. Soon, I feel accustomed and bored. Later, when even sick of these familiar days, I feel impulse to escape from the prison surrounding myself. And I attempt to separate myself from it. 

I sometimes break the thick wall of my sturdy castle. The more I stabilize, the more the wall thickens. The harder I work, the more crowded the castle become. I feel stuffed and choked by its gravity of daily hectic and intricate life. Pressed and suffocated, I can’t afford to gear myself or unlock the heavy latch of the gate. Impatiently, I grab a hammer and bang the wall forcefully again and again until I feel the fresh air out of the boundary. I just burst out destroying all my routine.

I should have opened the gate after arranging stuffs inside the castle. That’s a subsequent thought as soon as I succeeded in an abrupt prison break from the cell I built by myself. Contrary to my wish, I am going to break the wall again, because I am not a ideally organized person. Unwillingly, but willingly, I am going to hammer it again, breathlessly oppressed.



Travel is an antidote of life mannerism. It inspires me. New experience in strange circumstance during the journey recreates my mind and my castle. It renovates the old castle with novel design and architecture technique. It’s unavoidable to build any form of one, that can be changeable or unchangeable. I hope that I have enough bravery to attempt.   




      

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