Someday

The dreams I've had as a child were numerous. From the practical desire to become a neurosurgeon or a scientist and find the cure for all diseases or an actress and win an Oscar or an astronaut and ride a rocket ship to outer space; to the fantastical wish of building a time machine, learn how to teleport, and fly using pixie dust. What kid has seen Star Trek or read Alice in Wonderland and not dreamed of doing the impossible? But even then I had a sense that some things are beyond my reach. I did know, however, that the world, all of its nooks and crannies, is not one of them; and so I dreamed of one day "conquering" it.

My earliest recollection of feeling this burning desire to see places, known or otherwise, was when I was lying on the grass, looking up at the sky in my grandmother's garden (I was maybe 5 or 6) and watched a plane fly by. I remember how hard I prayed for it to whisk me away to some distant land. And when I read of faraway kingdoms and castles in the sky, I have not stopped wishing to be elsewhere.

Unfortunately, I hadn't had the opportunity to travel until college when my parents allowed me to fly with my class to Manila. Imagine the agony of a child who wanted nothing more than to explore the world and yet find herself confined to the city of her birth; and then picture that same child's face when she set foot on a plane for the first time. That initial taste did nothing to whet my appetite, however; all it did was make me more antsy. A lot of the decisions I've made, including the degree I chose to pursue, were heavily influenced by this incessant yearning to be "anywhere but here". In some ways, too, one of the many reasons I fell in love with my fiancé was learning that he also craves the thrill of exploring street corners in a country other than the one we grew up in.

When I moved to New York, I thought the persistent ache for something different and new and exciting would be quelled. After all, isn't The Big Apple the most thrilling, intoxicating, edgy city in the world? I thought the vibrant culture in this colorful metropolis would satiate my hunger for adventure. All it did was fuel my wanderlust. Every time I have a conversation with my friends from countries I want to visit--Israel, Russia, Georgia, Thailand, Vietnam--and each time I talk to anyone who has been somewhere I've never been--Iceland, Spain, Croatia, Peru, England, Mexico, Brazil, Italy, Norway, Germany, Switzerland, Sweden, Egypt (the list is long!)--I feel my world shrinking, as though the walls are closing in (well, that's an exaggeration, but you get my point).

The years have seen me go to a lot of beautiful and interesting locales in the Philippines, Hong Kong, Singapore, Japan, Malaysia, France, Canada, New Zealand, and Taiwan. But knowing how much ground I have left to cover, the photos I haven't taken, the delicacies I haven't tasted, the cultures I haven't experienced, the people I haven't met, the languages I haven't tried speaking, and the neighborhoods I haven't gotten lost in makes me want to quit my day job, empty out my savings account, throw caution to the wind, and hop on the next flight to Madagascar or Greece or Budapest or...

Fifty years from now, I pray I could say that I have gazed at the stars, stared at the moon, and watched the sun rise and set on board a cruise ship in the Bahamas, on the shores of the Dead Sea, on top of the Burj Khalifa, on the plateaus of Machu Pichu, in a gondola floating along the canals of Venice, on the gardens of Amsterdam, and everywhere you see the sky. Fifty years from now, I pray I could tell my grandchildren (or anyone willing to listen) stories of getting caught in a torrential downpour in Florence, staying up late talking to the love of my life in Santorini, using Google Translate to communicate in Arabic in Morocco, and buying spices from Khari Baoli in India.

Someday (a word filled with such promise!), this dream would come true as dreams have a way of doing; often not how they're expected to and not according to a personal timetable but they do come true. And it is this hope (this promise) that we must cling to. 

"I am not the same having seen the moon shine on the other side of the world." (Mary Ann Radmacher)