The End

I was suppose to write a post before initiating my last month of solo adventures through New Zealand. You know, eloquently elaborating an in-depth prelude of the philosophical and metaphysical impacts such experience would certainly have in the most obscure corners of my soul. I was even suppose to write a post in the aftermath of such adventures describing the tale of how twenty five days of having a backpack and a book as companions were the perfect ending to almost seven months of a surreal dream. Truth is, I did try to write those posts. I did stare at a blank page and tried to pen something inspirational. But the page stayed blank as if I was already in a full state of denial. The complete refuse to acknowledge that my life on the other side of the world was near the end. Even now, I cannot come up with clever words to sum up my time down under.

They say, and rightfully so, that traveling is about the journey not the destination. For me, traveling is about the people you meet on that journey, not the places you visit. New Zealand and Australia were, to say the very least, unforgettable. For the people, for the places and for the journey. Knowing that it is all not only in the past but a whole half planet away, burns like a cigarette in my arm.. 

As I write these words, I am sitting on the floor of Madrid’s Airport waiting for my last connection flight to Lisbon after already passing through Christchurch, Sydney, Bangkok and Dubai before landing in the Iberian Peninsula. Right now, I am dirty, smelly, tired, hungry, thirsty. Exhausted. Exhausted not only for the almost forty hours of flights and airports I have on me nor for the more than forty eight hours on which my eyes barely closed. Exhausted, above all, for not knowing what's next. I came back from New Zealand with many answers and even more questions. Where is home? Before it was just Portugal that didn’t fit my mold, but as I look at these people with familiar faces and familiar accents passing in from of me, it all feels more uncomfortable than ever. Even in Madrid. Even in Madrid. For the first time in my life, I have no plan. I really have no idea what to do or where to go. Worst, can I even do or go somewhere, anywhere, in the state the world is in?

To end on a positive note, because what really makes or breaks a place for me is the people on the road, I can't go without thanking the people who made me keep writing for all these months. Helena, Daria, Anne, Tiago and others who wrote me encouraging messages regarding my writing abilities and pushed me to deliver more and more. Let it be known to all of you that you were also a central puzzle piece of everything that now comes to an end. Thank you so very much. And for those who opened their home to a stranger on a budget, words can't even begin to express how thankful I am. I will carry you in my heart wherever I go.