Location: Annecy, France
My life is packed in bags and luggages scattered all over my room and I never really get to unpack everything. You know, people always talk about the wanderlust or the travel bug but they never talk about the chaos of traveling.
It’s more than an itch I cannot stop scratching. It’s a search for a constant reminder that I am, no matter my aches, my achievements, and my experiences, is still a speck in a big beautiful world. And there are many beautiful people.
It’s a push and pull of who I am and who I want to be. When I witness the truths of people I meet, young and old, my truths are constantly challenged. Sometimes I’m left to defend it, then sometimes I’m humbled to change it. And I am never the same person, whenever I go home.
I leave pieces of me with people I might never see again. I share my secrets with strangers on a beach or in a train. I tell my deepest fears and heartaches to friends I just met in an airport or in a bar. I boast about my dreams and goals to a boy I am waiting in line with. In return, I am with them wherever they go. When I go home, I recreate those pieces of me I gave away. And that’s the only way I survive.
Traveling shakes my core, every time. It bleeds me dry of everything that is fake and not mine. It sheds the skin I am not comfortable in. It takes of the masks I wear to protect myself. It leaves me in chaos–raw, unfiltered, and wild. And when it does, I feel most free. Then, I will do it all over again.
Follow me in Instagram @lencaccam for some random trips and daily musings!