I was back on the road again last week, and as usual, not a big fan of taking pictures. Just the thought of planning and stop life for a second in order to capture the moment seems so fake to me, do not ask me why, it just does.
Well, this time I did take a couple, just so I can post them here and prove that I was indeed traveling.
Anyway, I wanted to share my feelings when traveling, and I'm not sure, but I would like to think I'm not the only only one who thinks or feels this way.
My first sensation when sitting at the gate, or walking up and down the terminals, seeing the rivers and oceans of people walking, running, standing, I cannot help but wonder, almost obsess about each and every one of them, about their lives. Where are they going, where are they coming from, what does your house look like, what kind of car they drive, how is their room decorated, what do they do when no one is watching? Are they as perverted as me? I wish I could learn all that just from watching, and observing. Are they sad? happy? what was the latest news the hear before leaving home? what are the thinking? Are they thinking about me the same way I'm thinking about them?
Every time I travel, my diminished feelings of belonging are worsen; the stranger that no one ever notices, a ghost walking up and down the crowded hallways of solitude.
Last night as I was charging my phone in O'Hare I couldn't help but feeling less than a grain of sand in and endless beach, and no matter how special I wanted to make myself feel, the insignificance of our existence could not have been more obvious.
Well, this time I did take a couple, just so I can post them here and prove that I was indeed traveling.
My first sensation when sitting at the gate, or walking up and down the terminals, seeing the rivers and oceans of people walking, running, standing, I cannot help but wonder, almost obsess about each and every one of them, about their lives. Where are they going, where are they coming from, what does your house look like, what kind of car they drive, how is their room decorated, what do they do when no one is watching? Are they as perverted as me? I wish I could learn all that just from watching, and observing. Are they sad? happy? what was the latest news the hear before leaving home? what are the thinking? Are they thinking about me the same way I'm thinking about them?
Every time I travel, my diminished feelings of belonging are worsen; the stranger that no one ever notices, a ghost walking up and down the crowded hallways of solitude.
Last night as I was charging my phone in O'Hare I couldn't help but feeling less than a grain of sand in and endless beach, and no matter how special I wanted to make myself feel, the insignificance of our existence could not have been more obvious.
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