It’s called Wanderlust…Restless Heart Syndrome…Travel Fever. For me, and so many of my friends, these words don’t even begin to describe the sheer anxiety and withdrawl that I get from not having a plane ticket in my queque. Pulling out the external hard drive, I’ll rewatch clip after clip after clip of my trip from Japan, while hitchhiking in Namibia, from my library in Tanzania. There’s nostalgia and comfort all rolled into one and while it quenches the thirst for a few solid seconds (okay, perhaps days) as I remember that there is more to me than this med school life and English words…the desperate desire always sneaks slowly back in.
Sometimes it’s through movies, when I pet the screen as a gorgeous digital horizon spans out in front of me and I remember that I don’t see that much sky anymore. Or that often. Vitamin D has become my “happy pill.”
Other days it’s through conversation, either with a fellow wanderluster or more likely than that, a content American soul who “would love to travel when I have the money.” They always do. I’ve stopped believing in their lies, but I know that their niavity is pure. Once upon a time, I was them too.
Therefore, in 2 days time I leave for Vietnam. To quench the burning that sits in a pit of my stomach while I sit and study, wrestling the motion from my feet. To be spontaneous just for the mere spontaneity of it. To meet new people, live a different life, soak up more than damp deserted streets. In 2 days, I’ll be me again. Abroad. I’m scared shitless and excited as hell. Which is how all good stories begin and end.