"life is a highway and i'm gonna ride it"

Continuous days of studying have given me time to think, to stand in front of the mirror having conversations with my reflection, to walk around the house entering make-believe scenarios and entertaining all the thoughts a wandering mind would lead to. What I really want to do is to travel around in a caravan, wearing colour-striped socks and cartoon-print pajamas licking hot chocolate off my lips while listening to fellow travel mates tell stories, singing songs at the top of our voices with wind slapping on our faces, stopping the caravan along the road, sitting on wet grass to stargaze and waking up to fry hotcakes for one another.

I’ve been thinking about my future and I realized that much as words are important to me, I have never given any attention to doing the things I love, like writing. I’m frequently constructing sentences in my head but I leave them as broken half-complete strings in the air. I think about all the books I’ve yet to read but never get down to reading them. I unquestioningly devote a huge portion of my days to the education system and it’s such a shame that I do not question such ‘natural’ occurrences despite being equipped with years of sociological training. I ignore the doors of opportunities open to me through the mentorship programme. The illogic of my actions suddenly became very logical to me. If I led my life waking every morning to ask myself what I would do if today was the last day of my life, I guess I’d have been living all my last days wrongly. I can’t wait for the vacation to arrive (Life can afford to wait for another week I guess). I’m going on long bus journeys. I shall visit Borders to smell the air, watch the films that I always wanted to watch, explore art galleries, hop by museums, return to familiarly distant places to read and start writing all over again.