I woke up this morning and thought of a beautiful building I had seen in Prague by the riverside, which on further investigation turned out to be the National Theatre. That singular image brought up memories of that trip so vividly that it hurt. Things were so different 5 years ago. I was a spunky kid with short hair, as short as I cut it quite recently. I was so hungry for all the art, architecture and culture those countries in Europe had to offer. I wanted to soak it all as if cultural osmosis was possible in a few weeks. I visited the building where Franz Kafka lived. I went to the place Mozart was born. I tried to visit as many famous buildings and museums as I could, which annoyed my sister to no end. Don't all these buildings look similar, she'd ask as she lost patience. At the end of the trip, she discovered that Pop Art was her favourite kind of art. She acquiesced when I wanted to see a Pop Art exhibit for my birthday. She likes Lichtenstein way more than Warhol. I still like you, Warhol. 

I had a smartphone with very little storage and an old digital camera. I clicked numerous iterations of each picture, some awful and blurred and the others a little clearer. It was as if I knew I'd need a lot more context when I revisited them years later. This is where you ate that ricotta cake in the middle of the spring festival with fireworks. I didn't know why they were celebrating but I was a part of it. I have hundreds of pictures of that one hour. I can almost feel the excitement when the pictures start getting blurry as if they were clicked mid cheer. There was a picture of a park on a hill where my sister and I sat and ate sandwiches. I clicked a picture of my shoes with the city in the background. I remember this place vividly. I found a four leaf clover here, at least I thought I did. Finding one is very rare. I've read my fair share of Enid Blyton to know that you don't take these kinds of things lightly. A wrong wish could end you up in weird places. I was angry that day. I had an argument with the guy I was seeing and I couldn't explain his sketchy behaviour. 'If this isn't the real deal, I don't want it' is what the indignant 20 year old that I was asked for in that park holding that clover. I didn't ask for a scholarship to a college in Europe, or a trip extension or an upgrade to first class or an endless supply of trdlo or having a rom-com like story to take back. 20 year olds are stupid. 

I revisited all the sketches I made and the memories documented in my travel sketchbook. Everything about my absurdly detailed trip documentation said without words 'I never want to forget that I was here, and I felt this when I was here.'

We met a 63 year old German woman who travelled across the world. The cynic in me wasn't dominant enough to immediately think 'their passport allows them everywhere, we are the ones who are barred and questioned everywhere.' She'd stay in youth hostels and talk to EVERYONE. We went out for dinner with her while she told us her travel tales over goulash and peach vodka. Her spark was infectious. We met tour guides who left their jobs and lives behind and moved to Prague to discover stories and share them with people. Even they couldn't point out exactly what compelled them to toss pragmatism out of the window for history and art. I may have been in an odd place with the guy I was seeing but I was smitten. I was in love with history, art and the stories behind the art. I was in love with the buskers who I always paid because I believed I would be on the other end someday busking in my own way. I met an American girl who warned me to never take an extra semester when you don't have to because you will slack off. I ended up taking an extra semester a few years later and I slacked off. I met an Argentinian bar hop guide in Berlin who told me he did what he did to be in the city. He loved how it felt to live in a city like that. He wnated to be one with Berlin's rhythm. A part of me began to want to be in a city like that. But isn't every city in slumber right now?

This pandemic has allowed me a very limited range of emotions. I have never felt so emotionally non-existent. This flashback woke me up for a while before I returned to emotional stupor.

I thought of all the people I met and the stories they shared with me. I wonder how they are now. Where must they be working? Is the lady still traveling? Can she curb the need to globe-hop and settle for stillness? Are the buskers back? Is it terrible to sing with a mask?

 

I'm not oblivious to how the world around us is consistently getting worse. I wrote a draft about how outrage on social media has become nothing but social currency and how we're getting more indifferent every day. I wrote a long tirade about it all. It was good, if I say so myself. And then I felt an ounce of a different emotion and I erased the draft.

I listened to the poem Wishing Well by Gregory Pardlo on Poetry Unbound yesterday and almost cried. What a gift it is to have unplanned moments of connection with strangers. The day went on and the poem was lost. I woke up today and thought of that month in Europe. The world was full of possibilities. I may have been young, stupid and inexperienced but I was open. I long for that energy. The things I'd do to get the opportunity to sit with a stranger over dinner and share travel stories...
We have all had a similar experience in our lives at some point where everything was new. In a time of utter sameness there is nothing harder than to look at things afresh. Maybe we can all tap into it to breathe life into our days.

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