Walking is one of those things that I keep to myself. Whether it be the longer aimless walks, or the shorter walks to reach a destination. I do not know when the passion started really. But, even before I could spell out my name completely in English, I was walking halfway across the city to sit in an ever growing playground with an uncle of mine. After that, it has never really gone away. I have been in love with walking, and walking has reciprocated it with so many little things I have found on the way.
I guess it had something to do with the fact that I grew up in a small patch of a village perched on the roads of an ever growing metropolis. My family has never consisted of a bunch of village dwellers. There was always a love of the land, a love of the common things in them; that I have seldom seen in a city dweller. Growing there, though, I always admired the cycle, I have never been fond of cars or bikes. Bikes scare me, and cars…
Cars are suffocating.
Cars and buses are really suffocating to me. Unless it is quite empty and free, I get all stuffed up and afraid of everything near and far. The anxiety makes me feel strange.
I guess, that is another point in favor of walking.
However, this is not even the reason I walk. When the road doesn’t want to end, when you meet a new place suddenly, and your legs cannot carry you further, there is something that breaks within yourself. Walking in a way is a way to my own enlightenment. It is the only moment I am content with myself, the only time I am truly confident about everything I have done.
Plus, the city I live in looks beautiful when I walk through the roads…
So, lets walk, shall we?