To Nomad Or Not To Nomad

It’s been rumored that the beach town is closing down soon. For six months. Like most islands here in the country, there’s that environmental destruction going on in the coastal area, where people dump their unwanted waste. And I used to think that I’m going to root into this place, like settle here for good. I know I got no real plans yet, but life feels like crashing down right now.

I’ve been going through some existential crisis the past three days. I feel that I have to completely move on from my addiction to travel. I’ve always wanted to see the world since I was a teenager, and I eventually turned into a travel writer and a creative director in the travel industry. I loved every bit of it — traveling, working, directing a team of creatives. And producing astonishing work that drives thousands of people into islands.

When the pandemic hit, I lost about eight people in my life. I grieved so much, especially over my mother’s passing, as well as my ex-boyfriend, the two closest people I had in my life. I didn’t know that letting go was a complicated process. That it wasn’t linear, it wasn’t easy, and that it would take reliving the memory of their souls and always, always choosing to let go and move on.

I still haven’t moved on completely. Sometimes they still visit me in my dreams. We would spend time together like they never left at all. And maybe spirits don’t really pass away, that they just transition into some other state of being. All I know is that I’ve been many different things in all the millions and millions of years that my soul has lived, and that it’s a treasure to behold, if only for a moment, to be incarnate in my earthly form.

Been looking for women to look up to this past year. After communing with the Hathors for some time, I couldn’t get over the fact that I haven’t met any physical being of a similar resonance. When they were with me, they were a group of around seven distinct individuals who resided inside my body; so in total we were eight. But all together we were one consciousness, and we would sing and rhyme and make music together.

Every moment with them was a living expression of the eternal moment — that we existed as one in that moment, co-creating art that would not be forgotten, whose songs and rhythm will always be alive in the ether and in my mind. Now I just have to keep letting go of things that no longer serve me, and make space for new things to unfold.

Going back to traveling, I’ve been in El Nido for five months now, after spending the past year in the mountains and in Indonesia. I don’t know why I feel so fucking restless, I hate it. It’s as if I need to have new experiences all over again — when in the past I was pretty content relishing daily simple things, down to the most basic of existence: the sunrises, my meals, my yoga practice, the people I met, and the projects I dived into.

Now I just want to go to Laos, India, or Brazil. Am I sick that I need to move again? Maybe I have to train my body to stop moving too often. And like other nomads I’ve met, they all couldn’t be kept still. I tried to venture into other things in the past couple of months. I lived with a brilliant healer and entrepreneur, and I realized it wasn’t the life I wanted, I mean, being a healer. I was going to teach healing through poetry, yoga, and painting, but I just didn’t feel at home with it.

Healing, per se, is a good project. But it’s not central to my life.

Then I spent some time with a performance artist and really loved her project. She built an NGO that comprised of tribal people, craft-making, and travel and adventure. She wanted me to take over it, but the beach and jungle where it was located was offgrid; I just couldn’t be away from calling my family and friends. Well, I thought I could risk that. After all, it’s lovely to live without a phone or without internet. It’s petty, but the insects there harrassed me and got in my nerves.

I’m bored and ridiculously lost. The beach town is closing and I have to find another hideout. I don’t know yet where I am going, but I’m really hungry for some new culture. No, not really hungry, but starved. I’m pissed with myself that I can’t control my urges, I mean, wtf, woman, stop moving. I’m at that point in my life where I feel like I’ve experienced so much, but haven’t done much processing or reflection. I guess I am lucky to have gone where I’ve been; now I just don’t know where I am going.

What I do know is that I am my happiest when I am creating art. But first, I got to let go of travel writing and addiction to new experiences. There was this witch I met recently and we got close instantly. She’s also a nomad and an artist. I’ll write about her some other day. (Thank God there’s someone crazier than I am.)

// 16 Mar 2023