This romantic feeling of a travel, mostly adventurous, or relaxing followed by an empathic, almost jealous respond. Traveling is for the rich, traveling is for the experience. People get excited once hearing your stories, seeing your photographs from the travel. I did not have any photographs from my travel; I did not have vibrant memories to explain each and every detail. The changing posture of shoulders were the sign of disappointment, obviously because there were no exciting stories. Simply because I did not remember, or at least, I had never dug deep enough to find them.

I am always on the move but I never seem to travel. This might seem strange as I am far from a hermit. I do profoundly value the comfort of my own home though. It’s not to say that I haven’t been places, I’ve seen most of Europe’s capitals. It’s just to say that I’m not that adventurous. A lot of people need to travel to far places to find some kind of fulfilment, a new trip every year. I try to find fulfilment in what I’m building in my hometown. My own life, work, skills, friends, apartment. I am firmly rooted in my hometown. But that would mean I cannot travel. Maybe my hometown is firmly rooted in me.

Directly after high school I had several houses but I did not had place that was actually home to me. I was always prepared to travel to the next location, but I could not enjoy the travel to a holiday destination anymore. Only after I found home and actually had to pack my stuff for a holiday I was able to enjoy travelling again. You could consider me less adventurous back then but I believe that enjoying a travel requires a home you want to come back to.