humanity
If nothing else, travel opens your eyes to the colorful quilt that is humankind.
My first visit to a tiny lake in the State of Great Lakes
My husband often mentions how my memory works. He says I keep the memory of the last two weeks and forget everything that happened before. What he means is, I forget the details of the events. I agree with him, oftentimes I only remember the feeling of an event. Was it joyful? Was it frightening? Hurtful perhaps? And everything else remains a blur. This works fantastic for him because he has a great memory and in cases of fights, he can argue mentioning accurate facts, where I memorize only how I felt.
By Homayra Adiba5 years ago in Wander
Bull City
It's the City of Medicine but received its nickname from the infamous Bull Durham Tobacco company. The bull still stands proudly in the newly renovated downtown area. It's home to Duke University, the Durham Performing Arts Center that houses touring Broadway shows (hopefully that can happen again soon), the Tobacco Trail that connects major parts of the city. Not to mention the Durham Bulls Athletic Park for our baseball team. None of these attractions make Durham home, for me.
By Marquis D. Gibson5 years ago in Wander
The Harbor of My Journeying Soul
When I was young, my father used to work at the local beach making sure the campgrounds were in top conditions for the tourists. On one of those occasions, my father found a book on the sand, forgotten by its owner. The book was called Tigana, by Guy Gavriel Kay.
By Nora Lunna5 years ago in Wander
Koko & The End Of History
Once, the carriage would have been painted in triumphal red, but what remains of its past vivacity has faded into a diluted postmodern pseudo-red. It must have been around when the twenty-first century was still a futurist’s dream. Windows streaked with dust. Cracked panes. And at the front, an oily coloured heavy metal engine, rusted a little, the colour of autumn leaves. If Trotsky had been destitute, this might have been the type of ragged locomotive he rode to the frontlines of utopia. Its body is overwhelmed by graffiti, a mosaic of symbols that I cannot decipher. A funereal grey face dominates the back end, eye sockets empty and blind, and not so much a mouth to speak of, but two lips painted so as to remain forever closed. I wonder if this is the complete motif of communism that I’ve been searching for all this time.
By Donald Quixote5 years ago in Wander
Henry's Adventure Beyond the Grave
What was once a dead man’s journey has now become my own. There was an old house with exposed brick and blue shutters with a big sign of ‘Estate Sale’ in the front lawn. I felt a pull to stop and check it out. I walked through the house as if I was searching for a hidden treasure. I walked upstairs. Each stair creaked, I found a small room in the attic with boxes filled with books and old film photography equipment. I stumbled upon a black notebook. I dusted it off and turned each page and saw it was this man’s travel journey through Italy and Switzerland. A deep surge of knowing my dreams would come true came over me. I was struggling with anxiety and I yearned to see the world. The death of this man planted a seed into my soul to help me find the meaning of my life.
By Laura Vaisman5 years ago in Wander
Winter by the Sea
The powerful winter waves crash onto the shore, clouded in an ethereal mist of filtered low sunlight. I wrap my coat tighter around me, watching the seagulls flying overhead battling with the stormy gails. The waves wash in and out. In and out. I watch them and let go of thoughts. Breathe in, breathe out. The backstory is unimportant, but somehow, four years ago, a lost and struggling twenty one year old girl found herself moving from London to this tiny rural seaside town on the south coast of Devon. And now she’s here, still breathing, here to tell a story, a twenty four year old woman miles away from who she used to be.
By Emily Pulletz5 years ago in Wander
Cans for kids
Courtesy for the people struggling has been part of the ethical systems of all societies throughout the world since abstraction of the allocentric view was forged in the mind. Empathy moved out hominid selves to band together to fight the predators of the night and even to this day we remain through ethical institutions like legality, and religious institutions a coherent supra-organism called society. The written word itself symbolizes the unity of humanity in that through inert characters we find ourselves empathizing, imagining, identifying, and understanding with something not in the world but in the mind, the other's perspective.
By Seth Monahan5 years ago in Wander
