Don't date someone who travels

There's been a lot of these floating around lately so I thought that I would just add to the noise...

DON'T DATE SOMEONE WHO TRAVELS for they are clearly not career focussed and know more about life and culture than they do about conformist slavery and mortgages.

They can’t be relied upon for funding those weekend trips to malls to buy things you don’t even need to impress people you don’t even like.

Don’t date someone who travels because they are good with budgeting and otherwise termed ‘cheapskates’. They know that a typical $80 dinner for two equates to a week of accommodation in India or three days worth of royal treatment and adventure activities in Central America or Asia.

Don’t date someone who travels because you will never be able to impress them with your belongings, work achievements or general bragging. They don’t care about your favourite soaps and dramas, the current reality television craze or the facts that your coffee mugs match your coasters.

Don’t date someone who travels because their life focus is completely different to yours.  They will most likely be focussed on experiences and memories that they feel no need to tell anyone about. There are too many and you will likely never be able to relate. They have given up because all their stories have been met with blank expressions or jealousy and conversations that have been steered towards episodes of ‘The voice’ , ‘The Biggest Loser’, or ‘Xxx Idol’. Such conversations send them looking for the first plane to the other end of the earth.

Don’t date someone who travels because they are extremely selfish. They care only about themselves and want to understand the world. They leave their homes, country and culture looking for hope and meaning because they seek a universal truth.

Don’t date someone who travels because they have spent their lives getting to know their own humanity. They look at life the way someone looks at the stars - it is infinite, a journey never-ending. They have become so caught up in this that the conventional life has little meaning. It seems irrational, a predictable and costly repetition. They have found more exciting alternatives.

Don’t date someone who travels because they will piss you off. They will turn you upside down and empty all of the contents. They will ruin you and everything that you believe in. They will force you to face your fears and encourage you to expand the limits of your personal boundaries. They will look you in the eyes and ask questions that only you can answer.

They will spend a bulk of their free time researching the feasibility of climbing peaks in Kyrgyzstan or overlanding through West Africa.

They are unpredictable and spontaneous.

They are a combination of capitalism, communism and subsistence farming hippies.

They have the ability to embrace standard muesli and milk like it is the nectar of kings.

They look at 5 star hotels and yawn, calculating the price of every fake smile.

Don’t date someone who travels because you know it already. You know it all. There is no life with them. They are a flash in the pan. They will struggle when it comes to raising a family. They will struggle when it comes to retirement. They will end up nothing but glorious memories with nothing to their name. They will embrace their share of oxygen to the very end. 

Is this your view of someone who travels? Are they unreliable? Undependable? Beggars asking for one more chance to dream?

Do they live in a fantasy land in which the real world never meets, or do they embrace the world for what it really is?

Good. Find someone just like you. Build a picket fence around all that you strive for and cast your photos into the annals of history.

One day you will probably look a traveller eye to eye and you will both scratch your head. You will be caught at odds and both ask the same question: “What will you do with your life?” One answer will be obvious and the other will remain an unfolding mystery.

Don’t date a traveller because they are self important, egotistic and arrogant. They will look upon the life that you want to live and have the cheek that they can do it better.

Don’t date a traveller because they aim at turning the mundane into the remarkable. They are lost to the world, but in themselves they are found.

And they want the same for you.

4AM ceilings

DARKNESS AND FLASHING STROBES, thumping bass and fake machine smoke. Several drinks spilt on me. Room sticky, people bouncing like it's going to explode. But I'm a burden to myself, fifty down at the bar and still clinging tightly onto too much care. If I could move in such direction, if my head was like the wind, I'd shake this place like it's never been shaken before, I'd harness the essence like I always lived at it's core. But my limbs are useless, their rhythm a discoursed process, my mind sways around too much that is broken, this venue, part of the stain that remains. She looks at me and tells me to 'smile'. But my world is filled with such improbabilities, though I chance them, I fear they won't be bought out. Again she tells me to smile, this time not with words, but an exaggerated action of the lips. I lack skill I tell myself, I fall short of such abilities and talent although I try so hard. To listen to this Justin Beiber/One Direction remixed bullshit something something, marketed billion dollar industry prepackaged social engineering. We celebrate and propose love in the shadow of a fat alco-pop promoting beast. We feed it money. We feed it money. We feed it money. Dropping hundreds at the bar, in this club, patrons of pricey short-lived liberation. I desire nothing of it and wonder how I got here, a conflict to all this place imparts. I contemplate running on stage and punching the DJ in the face. I'm picking up the turntable and smashing it on the floor. Static screeches and reverberates like the devil screaming in the silence, the crowd's footsteps suddenly take on sound. They are all looking at me blankly and I'm holding a broken cable in my hand. "I am your liberator" I say and their expressions exude confusion. She looks at me again and this time I receive no prompt or instruction. It seems I am amused and now fluidly moving. Laughing as the bass-line reverberates through my body I realize that the world is doomed. It's heart is artificial. The life support system stupid! In one hand you take Ronald McDonald, in the other hand Simon Cowell favoured X-Factor/Idol runner-up from year 2003 singing Ring a Ring o' Roses.

Ring-a-ring o' roses,

A pocket full of posies,
A-tishoo! A-tishoo!
We all fall down.

But there is a girl on the other side of the circle. She smiles at you like she is aware of the con. There is a bass-line that somehow matches both of your heartbeats. There is hope, light, the lyrics plausible. When the alcohol takes effect Justin Beiber suddenly becomes a bard, an oracle. And who is that random guy rapping? What the f*** is he saying? Somehow the doomed plight of the world descends metaphorically and you become some sort of hopeful doe eyed protagonist.

Dancing.

Migratory Birds

"I really like it here" said the male bird to the female.

He traces his main claw, drawing small circles in a puddle of water on the rocky part of the bay.

"It's nice, this corner of the earth. It's not too hot but the sun is strong and the air is fresh."

The female bird looks at him longingly.

"Do you come here often for vacation?" she inquires.

The male bird looks intensely into her eyes and takes a purposeful step backwards as a stone flies directly in front of his face, the exact place where he had just been standing.

"Often" says the male bird disregarding the stone's threat casually. "But I go other places as well. There is a lot to explore and many nice places to pass a summer.

Both birds hear a stone pass sailing over their heads. This one is well off it's mark, as were the majority of stones in the 10 minutes prior.

They turn their heads and regard the stone's source, a freckled eight year old kid who sits on a driftwood log. He searches at his feet and looks for more suitable stones to throw.

"And how about work?" The female bird asks intrigued. She is a hint playful but also serious. "Where do you go?"

"I usually breed amongst the chain islands in the Berring Sea" he replied. "I enjoy the remoteness, the peace after snow-melt. There, I find a certain freedom in the wind."

"The Aleutians? Me too. Do you have a preferred island?" 

The male bird tilts his head to the side and thinks. There were so many islands, each one with its charms.

"I'm going to have to go with Kiska" he chooses finally.

"Oh, I'm not sure I know it."

The male bird nods knowingly. He thought as much. "It is a small island" he explains. "But not too small by Aleutian standards. Most flock to Attu, but I find Attu crowded. Kiska is what Attu was in the 70's."

The female bird is impressed. "Kiska eh? I'll have to check it out. Maybe I'll breed there in the next Northern summer. Do you have a breeding partner?"

"Not yet. Do you?"

"No" she replies and smiles.

Both birds hop closer together, each hop slow and delicate, their respective momentum driven by shiny notions seen in each others eyes. Their beaks are almost touching, the air warmer from each others breathing, when suddenly the male bird extends his wing and quickly pushes the female bird away. He does it just in time as a bullet like stone passes directly between them, the speed and force ten times greater than what they had been contending with before.

Startled, they each turn their heads and regard it's source. The boy's father now sits on the log beside him and joins him in searching for suitable throwing stones.

"Want to get out of here?" the male bird asks.

She nods and both birds take flight.

"I know a good spot over the headland. There are less people there. None of the city holiday campers like we get here."

"Why do you think the humans hate us birds so much?" the female bird asks.

"I don't know" replied the male, effortlessly floating into the sky.

They watch as both father and son stand up from their log now and hurl stones rapidly with all of their might. They grow smaller and smaller, like tiny ants, the power and trajectory of their throws pathetic and feeble.

They extend their wings and glide through the air with ease. The earth taking shape beneath them. Their paths careless, unencumbered.

"I have no idea at all. Perhaps they long to be free?" he muses.

"Have you been to the Hawaiian islands? Kauai in particular is magic this time of year..."

Regarding the Things of God and Men

What exactly does your god tell you when he whispers in your ear? What does he do to manifest feelings in your heart?

The things you will go on to do in his name?

The actions you will take?

From the small things to whether you reply to an email or respond to someone in the street.

To the finger, with gold you will surround.

To the bombs planted in the hearts and minds of those whose god is different.

You will put your god before people.

Then one day when you finally meet your god will you be relieved? To look back on the devastating road that lead you to this place, but be glad that you finally made it.

Will you look back on all the people that haven't and feel pity?

I wonder if you will realize that the reason that they haven't might be because of all the things you said and did in his name?

They meant nothing to you, and therefore your god.