Sometimes, it's easier to look forward that to look back. At least with the future, things are still nebulous enough to actually be molded by chance or circumstance, or human choice.
There is a part of me that already wants to settle, to move into a space that is mine, to make a small home for one. I can almost imagine lazy Saturday mornings, stretching on a rumpled bed with watery sunlight streaming from the windows, books scattered all over the place, music playing from an abandoned speaker system. My little room would smell of oranges and newly-washed sheets. I can pad around the place barefoot, or even naked, and have coffee without hurrying. I'd love to have a place I can actually call home, where I can be myself without slipping into a role, a sanctuary in the middle of the city.
But there is also a part of me that wants to explore, wants to see the world and all it has to offer. I want to live like a princess, like a backpack child, like someone else other than myself. I want to see the world beyond the confines of the city, beyond the shores of this country, to be lost in translation. I want to move and move, to be able to uproot myself from a home while carrying it with me. I want to associate a particular song with a particular scene, a particular city and country. I want to know what jasmine really smells like, what tarragon is, how to eat spicy food without blanching. I want to know what the fifty words for snow is. I want to write a song.
Sometimes I think I've lived for far too long. And yet, on other days, I feel like I've barely lived at all.