Sometimes I don’t want this travel life

After two years of traveling the world as much as possible while dreaming of life as a full time traveler and writing fastly growing travel blog, it’s scary to realize that in fact, you don’t want to travel. You have been running towards this magical life waiting for the perfect happiness just to see that this won’t be the right things for you. Maybe traveling isn’t the answer?

I don’t want you to understand this the wrong way. There is nothing better than sitting hours on an airplane going towards unknown, meeting strangers in hostel dorms and seeing the sunset in a new city every morning. I love traveling and I could not live without it. But there is something else that keeps me grounded.

I can’t stay at home for too long because my feet get itchy and mind starts to wander to new countries. But at the same time being in a new country for too long tires me endlessly. Waking up is hard. Let me tell you a secret: I may be staying in this amazing new country with so many places to explore but all I can think about is that I want to go back home. There are so many things to see. Maybe too much.

This may not make sense to you but for me, it’s the reality. I am lost like usually and still, I know exactly where I should go. Traveling is my thing. Definitely. But so is staying at home, sleeping long and just writing endless stories while staying in my bed from morning until I am too hungry to continue. I want both. Is it wrong of me to not want to decide?

In perfect case scenario, I would live every other month in a new city. Tourist attractions, unknown streets and writing my diary in small cozy cafes while watching the locals around me. Writing travel blog about my experiences and thoughts while experiencing all these unforgettable things. Finding new friends and meeting the ones who I have met before because of this crazy life of traveling I currently live.

But then after a month or sometimes maybe two, I would take that plane back to home. My back would be full of souvenirs and gifts for my family and friends. My blog would be still full of travel photos and stories I haven’t yet been ready to share. The first few days would just go by sleeping in my own bed and watching Netflix, relaxing and meeting friends. Then my days would be full of writing. Stories of my adventures but also about everything else. Going to seminars or attending to all kind of open university glasses.

For a month or sometimes maybe two, I would hang out back at home walking the streets I know so well. During that time I could work even more writing and maybe doing a little bit of translating to get by. My main aim, however, should be creative writing that I am even now studying. Then after that time at home, my feet would take me again to new countries and unknown places.

Being free and going where ever you want. Is that too much to ask?

With love,

Viivi who wants everything

 

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She was bird without wings

Sixteenth of December
She was bird, she was cat, she was endless sky with million bats. She lived bravely but scared of everything. Her days were full of sun and moon, sleepy days and sleepless nights. Negatives and positives circled around the body of her. A lifetime of opposites being all she got. Flying like a bird and laying down like a cat. She became everything a small girl could be and still she wasn’t quite like people believed.

She wanted to fly and fly and fly. But there was always that one risk: falling down, breaking wings. Nothing could stop her from dreaming of it. Those beautiful skies full of birds. Huge wings shaking in the wind taking them around the world again and again. She wanted to be like them, a bird with wings so strong she could keep flying and never land. But it wasn’t possible. Not every bird know how to fly. Not every bird can be on the sky. Her wings were cut off, disappeared, taken from her. She was a bird without wings doomed to live forever in the world of those going to die.

She missed the sky but she loved the ground. Sleeping through the day like cat was dream achieved. Doing nothing. Living without purpose. It was perfect until it was not. One day, two days, three days she was okay. Sleep, relax and see dreams. But days four and five and six she lost her will of being silly. Day after day it became harder and harder to stand back up and be like a bird. Sleeping like a cat not knowing about the world felt just fine. But not anyone can live that forever. You start to wonder. What if? What has she missed? Is this all I truly have? Could I have flown if I wings still had?

 

(This text was written in ten minutes without thinking anything. I did almost no editing and decided to publish it just like this. Nowadays, I call myself a writer. I even study creative writing in uni. But my problem: I write in Finnish. This blog is in English. In my opinion, it’s sometimes good to publish texts that aren’t so great or ready. Maybe in a few years, I can return to this one and see how long way I have gone with my English skills? Or so I hope…) 

With love,

Viivi Scared of Writing

 

The first not a date

Fifth of December
I remember the first time someone asked me out. I was eighteen, socially awkward and had never dated anyone. Nothing has changed except my age. At that time I was attending this high school psychology summer course while he was from the Swedish course class next to ours. First time we spoke he asked if he could sit next to me and I had nothing against it.

The next two weeks went by us sitting side by side during the short breaks. I was always listening to music with one headphone on and he kept reading quickly changing books. It was nice I have to admit. I didn’t have to sit alone while everyone else had a friend with them. Then one time he asked me what music I was listening to and after that, we had small conversations every now and then.

He was odd but so was I. One of the last breaks we spent together he started reading love poems in Germany for me. It was probably a sign of interest towards me that anyone else could have seen. I didn’t.

During the last day and last break of my course, I told him that we wouldn’t see anymore. He asked me out. I had no idea that he would do it. And even now I am not sure if he truly wanted to go on date or just see me again as a friend. He asked if I would like to come to the library someday with him. Then I promised to ask him as a friend on Facebook but I never did because I forgot his name before I had time.

I still think of him sometimes even if I never felt anything special towards him. He was the first boy who asked me out –probably- and also the only boy who had asked me out for a few years. Never before had I known that anyone would truly be interested in me.

Next time or better said the next few times happened during my Japan trip. I was never sure if they were interested in me or if it was just a friendly gesture. It was never “Would you like to go out with me?” But isn’t asking someone for coffee kind of the same thing? I have no idea so I have never been sure.

After my Japan trip, it started to happen more occasionally. Not often but every now and then. I realized that when I was traveling other people would get interested in me. Maybe I looked more beautiful or free than back at home? I have no idea why but I gained more attention as a traveler and amongst foreigners than back at home in Finland.

At some point, I came to the closure that it must be that “inner beauty” people so often talk about. I look better when I am happy and free of all worries. Or maybe all those people have just been some creeps that prey on silly traveler girls?

With love,

Undateable Viivi

10 Minutes Thursday

I have decided to start new writing series in this lost side blog of mine. If you don’t know, I started studying creative writing in university. And if you are ever studied writing in any way you may be familiar with this technique. 10 minutes of writing without stopping to think anything at any point. You just write whatever comes to your mind without editing or deleting. So, here is my first 10 minutes of writing the flow of my thoughts.
Expect to see more of this every Thursday!

I change my mind. I change my life. I change everything every day and every moment. I am allergic to staying, being and just getting stuck. My friends work towards that one goal they want. People I knew back at my childhood and teen years have families, homes and real work. I write, I travel and I change my plans daily.

My mind is running every second of the day. What new can I do today? What new can I try now? I try to be something totally different. Too long in one place is like death sentence for me. How can some people just keep living that same old life they were “meant to live”? I have wanted to be everything from rock start to astronaut and I still do even now. I may be adult but my mind keeps dreaming about these things others call silly.

I only have this one life but my mind wants to do hundred of different things. And that’s why I write. I write to live millions of lives in one lifetime. I write to see countries that don’t even exist and to fall in love with people who would never even see me in the real life. I write about fears and winning them so I will be strong. My stories are here to make me better person who can dream and achieve those dreams one by one. Never giving up.

Most people don’t get it. I never really speak about it. What writing means for me? Why do I write? I can’t even explain it with words. Writing is the only way to speak about it. I write to create something beautiful instead of seeing this scary ugly world outside of my window. Writing is my way of escaping. It’s my way of living.

With love,

Viivi Who Writes

Fight Until The End

She tells stories in her head, hopes someday someone will be able to read her mind. Then the reality hits hard. That day will never come. If she wants to share the adventures running around her head there is only one way. Only one destiny waiting for her.

The white paper is staring back at her. Screaming that there is no way for her to do this. Writing or better said being good at it is just dream. It will be just one of the stories in her head. One of the beautiful dreams repeating over and over again.

After first word she writes second, third ad fourth. After a while she starts to scream back for the paper. Puts sentence after sentence stories to its clean white surface. Even if this is going to be just one of the stories never happening she is not going down without fight. Because only way she knows how to live is by writing, she will fight until the end.