Why do I travel? I find myself asking that question over and over.

This was prompted by encounters with people who also travel. One travels because she loves animals and loves seeing them in their natural habitat. Another goes out of his way to participate in different festivals around the country. Another one got the bug from her father, and travels to immerse herself in the culture.

Why do I travel? It’s not for the animals, I’m not that much of an animal lover, though swimming with the whale shark was an awesome experience. It’s not because of the festivals, unless you count the Sydney Mardi Gras. It’s certainly not because of the culture, because culture for me starts and ends with food.

I find myself lacking the passion for traveling lately. I’ve carefully marked the dates when I’ll have a long weekend and planned on making the most out of them and going out of town. I already know the places I want to go to, but somehow, I can’t bring myself to finalize any plans. The days are coming and going, and I can’t decide whether to go. I’ve come to a decision several times, but I find myself changing my mind and stalling a bit more. Soon, May will be here and I will be left with nowhere to go.

And I don’t think that I’d mind that much. There are so many things on my mind lately, and the only thing I want to do is to escape. That’s why I travel I think. To escape. To leave my life for a moment and for a couple of days, live the life of another person. Only to come back to the same mess I left behind.

I’m always craving for something new. It doesn’t have to be overly exciting; change is enough excitement for me. I don’t really feel the need to travel right now; I just want to escape. And the place I want to escape to is the place that has always been labeled as the last place I want to travel to.