Today I am trying to reflect how the heck it came to me to start writing a blog.
Sure, once upon a time there was my dear journal, to whom I was telling every bit of what bugged me. But back then it had pretty much nothing to do with what I am writing nowadays. In my younger days, the principle of sharing my thoughts had not yet been evolved. “Sharing is caring”- what was that? The dialogs between me and my patiently listening, humble and best friend, my dear journal, were just the everyday chit chat of two young and innocent kids who discussed the colourful world of their backyard.
However, there came the moment, I must have been at the age of 14ish, a time when the rebel in me was going through a punky funky phase, when the bond of this sandbox love got impeded. Somehow my other newly made buddy Mr. Who and his gang convinced me of thinking of my childhood friend not to be cool enough anymore to spend time with. And so it happened that I distanced myself from my old pal to hang out with the big guys. We shared less and less thoughts until our paths turned into opposite directions and sank into the state of complete oblivion.
I went abroad to different countries, worked my way up in all kind of places and I got to take in countless nuances of joy and fulfilment. The thrill of the fast-paced world delivered such an enormous kick and meeting a myriad of fascinating people let the short-lived connection with Mr. Who to be quickly forgotten. Certainly it did not lead to remembrance of that other one’s fellow’s existence. I was a big girl and life was perfect. What else could I wish for?
But every good story has a dark chapter. Years went by and in the heat of the moment, like when an adrenaline user hits the sky and is in need of a bigger rush, when none can be anymore spared- you fall. And juggle through the tremendous dark valleys of sorrow. One may call it as well the rollercoaster of life and the learning curve was huge. So I wandered and wondered and tried to look for answers. Not exactly the flowery and blooming ride I had in mind.
And after a long time, when the shadows began to impregnate first ridges, a simple task given by my good friend and mentor, my singing teacher was the key. She shhhhd me out in the middle of class, putting a pen and notebook in my hands and said: “Get out of here and write down how you feel!” Caught by surprise, without even thinking of disobeying, even though it’s been a favourite discipline in my very own Olympics for a very long while, I nodded and walked out of class and dived into my inner self.
At first, there was a merely pure disbelief. Then came a doubt. Cycling on my bike and gasping for some fresh air turned it into a hesitation. I didn’t know where to start. I mean, how to write down how you feel? Feelings. Already this word itself made me feel uncomfortable. Mine were unpredictable, volatile in their own way, changeable in a fragment of a wink. A massive dark, grey cloud above my head was like a meet and greet point of my lost, unhappy brain cells to yell around and at each other, just right on top of my little me with all the heavy thunder storms and lightning flashes. Monstrous. Gloomy. Substancial.
I was scared to death.
Then something happened. I sat down in a quiet corner of a park, scribbled down the illegible words “i feel…”, and the rest was history. Just like that. The cloud slightly shed drizzle of words out of my brain, then slowly shifted into a word watering can. And suddenly, before I could even think about how and if to keep up my wall of fear and uncertainty, a flood of words bursted onto paper and made my brain surrender. More and more waves of words splashed in and gusts of phrases floated all my sorrows not away, but in a sense structured my maze of thoughts. Not expecting anything of this kind, I found my way out and forced my disorientation to flee. Let me tell you, if Noah’s Ark was there, they would have had a hell of a ride. The maze was defeated and the path has been under reconstruction. Nothing could stop it anymore and dare the ones that could possibly risk a try.
Despite the thunderstorm in and around my head it was a beautiful sunny day.
In fact, I never thought that writing could be a tool I could make use of, not worth to mention a hunky-dory thing to kill my time with. I was wrong. To create a read, enjoyable or not. Well, you tell me.
Writing down my thoughts is for me almost even better than to go traveling. It arrouses me to think that you can re-live those moments of your journey while writing them down. Plus, you can read and feel the magic again whenever you feel like going back. Nowadays, I am working on phrasing my thoughts. Giving my thoughts not only a decent packaging but rather shaping them around my words as if they evolved and felt like they were created like that. Meant to be. The Darwinism of thoughts.
Sometimes, especially at nights, I find myself widely awaken, moved by the desire to put in words what my brain machinery has produced throughout the day. Who would have thought that sharing is caring! Imprimatur has been issued and to repatch the path created enlightening as well. On top of that, it’s such a relief to be able to talk to my reincarnated friend my dear journal again. It looks more edgy than when we were young I think. The hard cover is a little rougher now and its pages yet impatient to be filled with stories, gentle and at the same time crystal clear- like a mirror. But who would judge a book by its cover anyway.
The journey is the destination. Embrace every moment until you rise into your better self.
Stay tuned and be part of my little adventures and share the love to travel! To be continued…
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The treasures of the world are hidden for the one and only reason, to be revealed by me. That´s at least what I´d like to believe. And the thought of being Indiana Jones in my personal blockbuster makes my heart jump higher. To learn about all the other ways of people seeing and doing things. To gaze at all the beautiful animals we share this planet with. To cherish every single plant mother nature created, especially those hanging trees with their long branches hanging gracefully alongside the water as if they were mourning for their dearest friend. To understand my role in this play. To be.
The Wanderess 