The Traveller
She who abandons all she has ever known
Half woman Half horse
A fool with merely a bundle of a bag
on her back
Shooting an arrow
onto some distant land
filled with
Different faiths
Different doctrines
Different beliefs
The colours of the Globe fulfils her
She is receptive to every gesture of love
orchestrated by the Universe
not merely limiting herself
to her fellow humans and creatures
The marriage of spirit and matter
are just as if not more alluring
In every passage
She finds a way to fall in love
with different manifestations of
Herself
A free roamer
relying on trust and openness
An autonomy based on
Her Own Philosophy
which she brings
to every corner of the earth
Her appreciation for all that is
Thrills the stars that sing for her
The wind that blows charms her way
and
Above all
She receives the love letters
the Universe has written
Just
For
Her 
“That will be 1000 kroners each,” said the man in front of us, holding onto a ticket machine, no uniform or identification on show, “remember for next time that the tickets in Prague have different zones and your ticket is not valid for these areas.”
My partner Brett and I looked dumbfounded and lost for words. A second ago, we were like giddy teenagers after spending an evening at what is called “Sapa” aka. Little Hanoi. Just a few minutes ago, we had spent our last evening wandering around a huge expanse of land filled with many make-shift structures, buildings and warehouses filled with sprawls of restaurants, street food, markets and shops. Just a few minutes ago, on a warm spring day, we had entered south-east Asia, in Europe, discovering a hidden gem far from the central area of this historically beautiful, faithfully timeless and touristically packed Prague.
We complied. Brett took out his card and paid the fine, “this is a penalty receipt that will last you for one hour,” said the guy with the ticket machine.
We had just realised we hopped on a bus going in the opposite direction of our destination when this man approached us. This morning, on our way back from the countryside of the Czech-German border, the coach driver gave us two tickets and had optimistically told us that once we reach Prague, these tickets will be good for our transport around the City. Little did we know that the tickets were zoned. Little did we know that we would also be hopping onto two more wrong buses after this incident, before we reached our intended destination.
“Oh well, at least we will have a good story to tell,” Brett remarked, his versatility and openness to the journey’s twists and turns, as evident as ever. In fact, throughout this past week, something that spoke loudly to me through his reactions was his ability to bounce back through the various surprises, some good and some not so good, of this trip we were taking together.
This simple remark wasn’t just his reliance on his mental strength alone, no. I felt that it came from a space of wholehearted faith and trust in the twists and turns of the journey. No matter the strengths and weaknesses he or I possessed, no matter that there would be pleasure or pain, action or inaction, or all of the above- here, sitting on the bus in front of me, as rooted in his philosophy and of his truth as ever, was a traveller. A traveller open for risking into deep changes of experience and of the mundane aspects of journeying into the unknown- unafraid to stand for misfortunes when his hopes are high or to receive incredible strokes of faith when he least expects them.
Throughout the week I observed this partner beside me.
Indeed, as the poems suggest, he is a fool, in the greatest meaning of this word. Indeed, his compass isn’t set for one particular destination but it is very much set in perspective to be widened by the people he meets and the places he steps foot in. To risk it all when a journey calls for him and to not be limited by his own way of doing and seeing things. He is open for recommendations and advice.
That is the thing about being travellers and not tourists. They are hardened by the miles travelled via foot, via planes, via trains and other modes of transport. They do not shy away from the mundane, to tread the paths unknown and sometimes for many many hours nor do they shy away from the initial strangeness of scents and of sounds and sights. In fact, these very things are like a drug for them. The more they see, the more they want to continue to see. The more they put faith in life outside of themselves and their own bubble, the more life offers to them the chances and opportunities the few get to discover. The more they experience, the more they understand.
Don’t be fooled by these kinds of fools. They are the good kinds of fools. You know, they possess a freedom that cannot be bought by money but only through such experiences of expanding their horizons.
When we hit some bumps along the road, most of the time, this man beside me was as much zen-like as any other monks I have met so far. I suspect that throughout his travels, life has given to him both pleasure and abstinence, action and inaction; all of which could never have been a loss for him because, as he learned to be a traveller, he learned that every experience presented to him a gift of some kind that shaped him as a person.
As his lover, I am jealous. I am jealous of the paths he has travelled so far, seeing the foreign sights I have yet to see and of the experiences that have shaped him with my absence. And yet, simultaneously, I am in awe. Because I once told myself that I could only dream of being, once upon a time, of being with someone who is both adventurous in spirit and grounded in their values, at the same time. Once upon a time, I had met many travellers. Exciting, alluring and interesting as ever. Yet, I think there is something that separates the good kinds of travellers from the not so good ones.
The good ones are the ones who can still shoot their arrow into those distant lands, filled with different faiths, doctrines and beliefs, shooting this arrow with their truth, their philosophy and their values still in tact.
The ones who know why they do what they do and why they have traversed in these particular directions.
The ones who are open to change but never forget where they came from or what brought them here in the first place.
The ones who do not lose themselves to mere attractions but see substance beyond what meets the eyes of many.
The ones who do not lose their ground, even as they are flying above in the sky.
I suspect that my traveller-self is taking root. I suspect that my partner will be both a reflection and inspiration for what is to come in my own life. I also suspect, that at this day and age, as countries begin to open up in a post pandemic world, travelling, with its mundane and volcanic experiences it presents, will be a mirror for how we can grow and handle the more day-to-day experiences of our lives.
Contemplations
:
What characteristics of the traveller do you possess, and not possess?
Who are the travellers in your life?
What can you learn from them?
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