The Magic of Travel

I love to travel. In high school, I lived in Madrid during a three-month homestay. In college, I studied abroad in London for a semester. In six weeks, I move to Dublin for a year. Nothing compares to landing in a foreign place, peering outside the plane window, and simply dreaming of the adventures to come. The anxiety, the exhilaration, the uncertainty — I'm addicted to all of it.

In Madrid I experienced the subtle delicacy of Spanish cuisine, sharing dishes of pimientos de padrón and croquetas with my host family around the dinner table. I found a little bit of home in playing basketball after school with the locals at the nearby park. Together with my host-brother Hugo, we'd play for hours until the sun set and our clothes dripped with sweat, our voices dry and raspy from hours of yelling "¡Pása!¡Pásame la pelota!"

In London, I befriended students from Nigeria, Qatar, Singapore, and all corners of the world. I learned about the history of racism and discrimination in Malaysia from Malaysian Chinese friends in my Japanese class. I learned about the childish traditions of all-boys-boarding schools across the UK and laughed at the striking similarities with my own experience in boarding school here in the States. I was also very quickly humbled at my first jazz jam session and learned to stop my solo after three choruses.

More than anything though, traveling always seems to give me a feeling of peace and serenity; that life doesn't always need to be on rush mode. That I can be in the present and absorb the novelty of everything around me.

Onto the next chapter.