Itchy feet

It’s been nine months since I landed in England but didn’t really stop travelling and in ways still haven’t now. For the first few months I stayed with my sister, then stayed at my father’s, before finding a house to rent with a couple of friends and next month I move again to rent a room in a family home with a lovely woman who is an art therapist. Each place in different locations made feasible via a flurry of six mediocre jobs in an attempt to keep myself afloat. A hard task starting from zero in constant upheaval.

My ideas have led to a possibility of studying again but this time Psychology with the Open University allowing me to fulfil my dreams of saving humanities’ emotional suffering after 6 years completion.

But always in my mind swimming around are thoughts of adventure. Escape! Freedom! Living with nature or exploring bountiful cultures! Feeling alive! Because there is no better way to feel alive than travelling. No other way to feel the beauty of your life stretching behind you in glorious sunsets parallel to feeling that every moment you live and every molecule of air you breathe is yours and you belong to it like it belongs to you. As if you are one together; living, breathing, loving with the magic of the universe. This is where you see real magic woven between Silver-birch trees and meshed within muddy footsteps leading you on a path known only to the stars. Bravery is your middle name, courage knows no fear except for sometimes in the night when you fear for your safety but you are safe and you are powerful and the only thing you can be more afraid of is yourself. Nothing can be more frightening than depths of a mind’s disease so you are, fearless. The way to realise is to throw yourself into the deep end before you’ve learned to swim so you have two choices and when you choose you will see all of the reasons you chose to survive, to smile, to hope, and to thrash your entire body just to keep your pulsating heart from sinking.


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