SELF-LOVE has to be the mother of existence.
I had a holiday at home last weekend which consisted of spacing out and a lot of reminiscing about my past travels.
I also read Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own, e-book. She’s right. As a female writer myself, I am much suffocated by the bawng fashioned by men and practised by burgeoning followers.
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Therefore may I offer you my vulnerability in relation to how I experience the world.
I don’t know when we can Scoot again. Nobody knows until a vaccine is ready in reversing the pandemic. I love vacays and some of the best voyages of my life come from holidaying without a care in the world.
Come with me this week as I relive past destinations close to my heart. Rather, different from the rest. It has to be genuine for your reading pleasure.
I am too inert to count how many countries I’ve been to. Quite a few. I don’t do noise and I internalise mostly.
When I was in transit in Anchorage via Eva Air on a cold December morning, whiteness greeted me. The crisp sun rays from outside of the airport doused me with smileys. That was the first time I saw snow, back in 1997.
I travel like a child with innocent eyes willing to be seduced by how foreign places live. Serenity anoints with the lacking of unintelligible chatter. Hasta la vista, baby. I’ll be back.
I like Mother Nature. She’s gentle. I particularly enjoyed sandbank dining when I visited the Banyan Tree Maldives Vabbinfaru circa 2005.
It was sunset and the sky gradually turned pitch dark with shiny stars above me; the waves’ edges had twinkling sea organisms sweeping at my feet.
Champagne and BBQ haute cuisine devoured. I swam with stingrays. I snorkelled and was shockingly mesmerised by the magnificence of a graceful reef shark.
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I met a homeless man in San Francisco a few years ago. I was smoking on a Christmas afternoon outside the Michael Kors boutique when he asked for a cigarette. I forthwith gave him one and asked if he needed a light.
He said “Yes, thank you”. Scruffy yet soulful he was. Before he left, he said “I wish you good weather in your home country.”
I’m an introvert so I shrank back a little from conversation. I didn’t mean to be rude. I was overwhelmed by his lighted aura. He understood me. He moved away from my psychological space, gestured goodbye and left me very thankful that a singular entity doesn’t mind the delicate whiff of a vulnerable disposition.
Softness isn’t weakness.
In Woolf’s words: Women have served all these centuries as looking glasses possessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of man at twice its natural size.
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