I'm not a traveller anymore. I'm a hippy, nomad, seasonaire who is not really a hippy or a nomad. You see I'm caught in this delightful mess of some kind of sustained purgatory that I choose to stay in. It's fun to float between, before, beyond, the boundaries you have set for me. Who are you to prescribe my life? I recently heard that for the Goan hippies of the 70's and 80's who's children are my age or younger it's cool for them to dress up smart, buy all the material goods they can and go work in the city. See? You think the only rebels are those going against the glass tower 9-5ers, but really we are all rebelling against what came before us just to feel alive, alone, at peace.
So back to my rebellion I guess, and all this time I'm wondering where I fit as a traveller that doesn't travel and a writer that doesn't write. It all gets a bit complicated as I spend another sleepless morning shooing mr monkey from my balcony and trying not to get worked up about the views of those who I don't work for even though some blood was spilt somewhere to feed relations. Some people's twisted fates follow a very straight piste of calendar dates and Bayeux tapestry timelines, but what comes next for your clay pot filled with paper money - mortality? Yes. So why not allow me to be not like you, that's not me now, is it? 2 days ago a 20 year old German girl I met had come to find herself to break away her social norm by working at a hostel bar for 2 months specialising in white girls wearing bras and scarfs for clothes while 'growing into themselves' as fish. It's like they never wanted to come on land and are better as the little mermaid. She nearly fell off her bar stool when she found out I had spun for more than a quarter of a century around this earth. Because in her educated prescription maybe I'm too old to do this job of travelling the world. But remember, I'm not travelling. I guess I'm like a mobile home that never really moves! And what about that 65 year old who lives down the road (but really he's from Manchester, UK or somewhere I have never ventured to because I'm not really a traveller), who smashed me at table football at the bar where girls where very little clothes. Is he a traveller too? Is he a hippy too? Do you call people who move to Spain or Australia hippies because they're no longer in the UK? Didn't think so. And what about people who don't move at all but stay right where they popped into this earth. Ready to learn, and live and die again without even making one full circuit. I've meandered from the point but it was to say that we can all be lost and found at the same time, but what does it even really matter if I'm not making money to buy more clothes I never really wanted and a car I won't even drive because, let's be honest, who knows if I'm a nomad or not, I just won't be there.
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About meI enjoy writing and have had experience from my degree and through working on news posts. I hope to use this blog as a summary of extraordinary things I've discovered or witnessed in everyday life. Archives
March 2020
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