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Image by Drew Beamer


The price of wanderlust

The yearning knocks so deeply at your door. It’s a call from destiny, that you somehow cannot ignore. The daydreams turn into excitement and calls to action, not too long and this wanderlust becomes a constant distraction. Bravery and fear now coexist like two enemies battling for your heart’s conviction. They sit inside your mind, pushing and pulling “Will I stay, or will I go?”.  Ultimately, leaving means sacrifice of family, furry companions, and a place that offers the first trace of your identity. Yet staying means feelings of longing, displacement, and regret. It becomes a constant dance between fear and bravery, sacrifice, or the 9-5 workday slavery. 

The leap is made, and the goodbyes are hard, but you don’t seem to look back. Homesickness comes in waves at first but over time, the opening of the world expands your heart and mind so gravely that you marvel at the people-watching and the explosion of culture. Your taste buds dance like an African drum and the stories you encounter humble you deeply. Time is fleeting, with constant new experiences of new connections and self-reflection. You are so enthralled and ignited to your core, that you forget to anticipate the missed weddings, aging grandparents, and long-lost best friends from a place you once called home. 

However, optimism and opportunity drown out any calling to return. The selfish dance of freedom and adventure through art shows, luscious landscapes, and ageless architecture. You soak up ballet, boat rides, tai chi and traditions, animals, plants, dim sum, and history are a simple train ride away. The contrast of buzzing lights and rural farmlands makes you feel grateful that destiny called on your restless spirit to resettle, refocus and reintegrate. Your stories of resilience and adventure will be shared from generation to generation. They will be inspired and only truly understand the significance of it all, when wanderlust too, comes knocking at their door. 



July 30th, Friday

Dear Diary,

I can’t get her out of my mind. I simply can’t.

I adore how her blonde hair sparkles when she emerges from the sea. I adore her hazel brown eyes, they are such a twinkling delight to look into. But most of all, I adore how she isn’t afraid to be herself.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m no match for her – she’s too confident, too bold in her approach. She has probably friend-zoned me. I’ve seen all of her other guy “friends” who are always waiting by the beach for her. I can see how their ears perk up when she arrives, especially Big Guy Jack. He hovers around her like a dog waiting to pounce on a bird – so desperate. I promised myself that I’ll be a gentleman. She is a lady worthy of love and affection, so much so that I’m willing to risk my life for her. Diabetes is no joke of a disease, mum told me that. She said I need to be home for my insulin shots every night, but Frosty is worth at least one missed shot.

Yesterday, I snuck out of the house when my babysitter came. I ran down to Power Station Beach, almost knocking over my neighbour Bruce who was out for a walk. I was certain she was there. The moon was out, shining in full glory. The insects were scat singing loudly in full jazz fashion. The air was sickeningly humid but even that didn’t bother me. I just knew I had to see her and tell her how I felt.

Her scent lingered on the path and I followed it. At last, there she was – by the water, her usual spot. She saw me run towards her and to my relief, she ran towards me, too! My heart! But suddenly, I was tackled from the side and found myself lying on the sand with my face smashed in. When I looked up, I saw Big Guy Jack. He gritted his teeth and for a moment, I was scared shitless.

Frosty was panting when she got to the crime scene but she gently nudged me with her nose and those hazel eyes gazed deep into my soul. She told Jack to go home and that she wanted to be left alone. When he refused, she gritted her teeth, too. I got up hastily and let out a meek bark, still feeling a little dizzy. Jack finally backed down and retreated like the sore loser he is.

Then, she put her white paw on mine and asked, “What took you so long?”


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