(Note: I’m aware it’s been maybe two years since I last posted. So here’s a quiet return.)
I have always wanted to write a memoir. The fact that I’ve just turned eighteen, and don’t really have enough life experiences to fill a book, hasn’t entered into the equation.
I’ve spent the last two weeks devouring travel memoirs. If you know me, you know I go on reading binges – I’ll go six months without picking up a single book and then read five in a week. It’s just how I am. But these last few weeks have woken my wanderlust back up, something I’ve been trying very hard recently to keep dormant. But god, do I want to go.
A fascination and intoxication with travel is nothing new here. Look at the title of this blog for starters, or even the fact that I started this blog at thirteen, bored out of my mind, filled with longing for anywhere but where I was. I wanted to pack my bags, get on a plane, and go someplace completely new. I long for that now.
Me in 2011 was about to start high school. She was bored with the town she’d spent the last three years in, and she just wanted to grow up so she could make her own decisions. The person I am now, well, they’re studying full-time at university. They’re working part-time to pay the bills. They have dreams of a successful career in the film industry. And they don’t know where they’re supposed to get the time, or the money (god, the money) to travel for a year. But I want to. More than anything.
I’d finally claim my New Zealand passport and spend three months in Australia saving up money – after two years of saving up during university. I’d finally go to Japan, Korea, Thailand, Bali! I’d learn to surf and I’d try skydiving – I’d hike and explore and meet people from everywhere. I’d realistically wear travel-worn clothes and not necessarily smell the best. I’d be free.
I’ve worked so hard to get into film school, and then worked hard to do well once in film school. I don’t want to jeopardise that. But when will I find the time to take a year off?