I feel tired

traveling and unsettled

belonging nowhere

wanting to be everywhere

it is hard

it seems glamorous

some may envy me

please don't, not as a friend

I am tired to my very soul

exotic locations

beautiful photos

delicious food

pretty faces

these are not the real story

if only

most of the time I pass through untouched

I am carried through on a conveyor belt

airports

train stations

bus terminals

taxi cabs

the stench of sewers of Beijing and beautiful palaces

the ever present red clay dust of Uganda and wonderful smile of the children (some with HIV)

the torment of stall holders of Egypt and the magnificance of Karnack

the politeness of the Japanese waiters and air hostesses and the flashy billboards

Sometimes I only see these as if in a movie

I am still holding on to whom i was

He is still holding on to me

I know I am changing

I am not made of stone

wish I was some times

words hurt

memories hurt

expectations hurt

To me all this is evidence against me

this is all I know

I know I am used to holding onto hurt

It is like holding onto a stick of nettle because letting go will hurt you too

Do I remember peace of mind

Do I remember how it feels to feel at home

and really, would I know it if I get there

Or I will pass through with glazed eyes, holding my breath

wrapped in my foetal position to avoid the constant pain I feel within and without

Is there such a place

Or is this yet another figment of my imagination

that I hold onto

to torment myself with a fantasy

I don't know

I haven't know for a while now

To know is to choose, to take a risk to take the good with the bad, with the mundane

This may be too much for my idealistic child-like mind

Logically knowing that I am not perfect yet abhoring myself for it

Knowing no one or nowhere is perfect yet detesting that too

Thus there is nowhere to land, to rest, no-one to be at ease with not even myself