Roads We Travel
Travelling has a way of unraveling us. It disrupts us from the patterns and routines that dictate our lives and offers an escape from the responsibilities that tether us to a place and time. It provides a special kind of freedom—to observe, to reflect, to exist in the moment without the weight of expectations. Yet it also brings a sort of melancholy that comes with being in a place where no one knows who you are, where you’re just another face in the crowd, and even your most all consuming issues seem so minute in the broader existence of the universe.
I haven’t traveled to many places, yet each one has left a significant impact on me. There are certain traditions that I encountered while traveling that transcends borders and are practiced across various cultures. The act of stacking stones, for instance, is a practice I’ve observed throughout Asia and North America. These subtle connections shared throughout different cultures, speak to something deeply human. A simple gesture that carries a profound meaning—a quiet wish sent out into the universe, a plea for something better, or a marker to guide lost travelers. Showing that no matter where we are in the world, there are certain gestures and expressions that are often shared, almost universal in its simplicity.
When I travel, I often feel as if I’m suspended in time, trapped within urban landscapes and bustling marketplaces, navigating foreign transit systems and streets lined with unfamiliar faces. Travelling offers us glimpses into a world outside of our own — each one with its own traditions and social customs. It strips us from the roles we play in our everyday lives and the identity we constructed over time. Allowing us to learn more about ourselves and the world around us.
As an international student, I’ve often found myself caught between worlds, navigating not just physical distances but the emotional landscapes that come with living far from home. There’s a unique dissonance in being an outsider and stepping into unfamiliar cultures. It’s a constant process of adaptation and learning to fit into new environments, and it’s a feeling that’s often
amplified when I’m out traveling. It brings a certain kind of freedom to reinvent myself but also a profound sense of loss. A recognition that in embracing new identities, I’m also leaving behind parts of myself that I may never fully reclaim.
Traveling reminds me of the impermanence of all things, and provides me with a peek into the lives I could have lived, and of the person I might have become if circumstances had been different. Each city, each country, becomes a temporary home, filled with moments that are fleeting but intense altogether. Where I can form connections that are deep yet ephemeral—friendships that flourish quickly and those that fade just as fast, memories that are vivid but tinged with bittersweet melancholy. Yet, within this melancholy, there’s also a profound sense of purpose and resolution. Traveling has taught me to be more resilient, more adaptable. It’s forced me to confront the unknown, to navigate spaces where I don’t always belong, and to find my place within them regardless.
In many ways, traveling has been a journey of self-discovery, revealing how identity is not fixed, but a constantly evolving construct shaped by our experiences. It’s a reminder that we are all, in some sense, travelers—navigating the shifting landscapes of our lives, always in search of something more. No matter where I am or where I go there’s always a persistent part of me that longs for home. This yearning shows that, no matter how far I travel or how much I change, there are parts of me that remain constant, that anchors me in a place that is familiar and enduring.
