The itch

The urge to grab my backpack and get on a plane has been haunting me. Like a demon. Like the best possible demon that can haunt you. I see it as a good sign that I'm not ready to sit my ass down in one place. I literally have a hard time sitting on the couch for half an hour to read a book or watch a movie. I need to move! 

Still getting used to the whole settling down idea (paying rent and going to school is the most settled down I've been in this life), I decided to go on little journeys around the neighbourhood and only speak other languages. It worked! I felt like a traveler, seeing things with traveler eyes and taking pictures with my little travel camera. Bumping into coffee bars and smiley bearded people. Feeling new in a place. 

Riding my bike around, singing sweet songs of freedom. Taking in the beauty of St Gilles. Sunshine in my eyes. Dreams of being in another corner of the world. With friends on both sides, sitting shoulder to shoulder. Music to dance to and musicians to dance with. Concerts to see and parties to turn the night time blank pages into a book filled with stories. The next morning, coffee and eggs with details. 

Things are becoming strangely familiar again. Days happen, challenges are harder to find. That's when the travel demon becomes my shadow and follows me everywhere I go. For now, I ain't going nowhere. But soon this will have to change. My feet are itching. And you know nothing will scratch them like some good ol' traveling.