For the past six months, I’ve been on the road most days. My travels took me to three different countries, spanning eight different cities around the world. That’s not a lot of air miles in the eyes of the seasoned traveller; but to someone who only first stepped foot inside a plane when he was 18, it’s a potent mixture of flight fatigue and a little homesickness.
Growing up in a close-knitted family and being in a foreign land, keeping in touch every day with them surpassed any of my fundamental social needs. Travelling alone made this even more imperative. Even though sleeping and waking up in a different city every other day may seem like a novel idea at first, without friends and family by my side, I quickly grew tired of it.
Certainly, travelling solo isn’t an easy thing to do. The difficulty, unlike a decade ago, is not so much of finding your way around but the psychological aspect of keeping yourself sane enough through sufficient social interactions. And as much as I appreciated the autonomy of travelling alone, I can’t deny that sometimes I wished there was somebody here with me.
One day, long after these memories have faded, I might travel the world alone again. But until then, home, here in Singapore, is where my heart is.
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