I have moved around all my life, consequences of my father’s transferable job. I have grown up in different houses, in different cities and studied in different schools. I have made new friends only to lose them. And over the years the only baggage that I have accumulated are my memories. Even when I sit quietly in the corner of my house, my body sways gently in the motion of a moving caravan in the desert.
Goodbyes are difficult, despite the years of practice. I can’t stop the tears that roll down my cheeks. I am afraid of what lies ahead. The sands change shape in the desert. The heat, the thirst and the desert storms.
For once, I want to stay put. For once, I want to call a place my own. For once, I want to belong. But in my heart I know, the nomadic blood in my veins runs strong. I have to keep travelling. On and on. To my destiny. To the end of the world.