I am convinced that traveling changes people, even if it’s in the smallest, seemingly insignificant ways. Every time I have gone out of the country, be in Japan, or Italy, or Greece, I have witnessed a culture that is vastly different from the one I know.
I see people that dress and look different, try to process and interpret a language that is indecipherable to my ears, and experience, ever so microscopically, how people enjoy their life. I observe how people drink their coffee, how they walk their cobblestone streets, how they say hello to old friends, and what makes them fulfilled. It feels as if every facet of these cultures rubs off on me, like the residue left from filthy, old chalkboard. I am covered by small bits and pieces of these memories that I Just can’t clean off, even if I wanted to try.
I am perpetually infatuated by the passion for life and family that the Spaniards and Greeks have. I am calm whenever I remember that serenity of life as I stood among the perfect, colorful, magical Japanese gardens in Nara, Japan. I am reunited with inspiration when I relive my study abroad in London, with the weekend trips that became part of a soul-searching adventure, the terrific people I befriended from all walks of life, and the challenging, bustling music community that opened my eyes to a whole different musical world.
All of these experiences have taken up residence in my heart and in my mind, that have continued to stay and give me priceless memories only I can keep. I can access. I can replenish upon, once my bank of inspiration dries out, I always have these. These moments. These travels. These priceless, irreplaceable adventures.
