Say Something

In June I began dating someone named Sam, and in January we broke up. The breakup was quite messy and angry; full of shouting, a few broken glasses that were aimed at my head and a broken table that I flipped over and threw at a wall. It was a very angry fight between us. I know it was my fault, at times I was a horrible boyfriend, not only that but a horrible person in general. Near the end I got angry easily, lost patience often and didn't show sympathy, and for the most part she was nothing but sweet.

In the beginning though, it was pretty great. We met through mutual friends, we went to the movies and got some drinks after and she was there. She was pretty and liked to talk, not one-on-one when there was a group around though, she told stories and smiled a lot. She was halfway through her very funny story about the frozen yogurt guy at the mall when she looked at me and gave a big smile with her teeth and I just kind of smirked back and sipped my beer until she looked away and I asked my friend next to me what her name was and what he knew about her. The next time she looked towards me her story was finished and she smiled at me anyways so I sort of smiled back and raised an eyebrow and surprisingly it made her smile more so I got up and introduced myself to her we talked a bit and exchanged numbers. We went on a few dates she was talkative but that is okay because I spoke a little less and her stories made me smile. I told her a little about the places I have traveled and she told me all about her perfectly normal yet perfectly interesting life. We started seeing each other a lot more by August and she quickly learned about my brother, Paul, and my sister-in-law as well as my now 8 month old nephews Sebastian and Philip. I also told her about my dad and that my mom passed away while I was in high school but told her little else. She never pushed for much information and just assumed that was the tragedy of my life. I met her parents and her younger siblings and they seemed to like me. By October I told her that I loved her and she reciprocated. 
 
Soon after she saw the scar on my stomach that I have from surgery after the car accident I was in but I told her that I didn't want to talk about it. I should have realized that at some point someone who knew my story would tell her about it. In November she grabbed coffee with someone who I barely know but apparently she knows everything about me. Somehow it came up that I have weird scars and that I keep quite about my mom. The girl told her everything. My mom struggled with cancer for a few years when I was young, then in high school I was in a car accident with my friends and my two best friends and girlfriend, Hannah, died instantly, that I ruined both knees and nearly died from internal bleeding, that my mom's cancer came back when I was about to graduate high school and she died within months and that I tried to kill myself and my father found me in the shower cold and covered in my own blood.  She came to visit me that night and she wanted to talk to me about it all but I got angry with her and she got angry with me and I think that is when I knew that it was only a matter of time. 

Every time she looked at me afterward it felt like she was pitying me. I worked on an assignment and exhaled deeply and ran my hands through my hair because I was fed up with it (I study business now) and she would walk over and and look at me as though I was so broken. Instead of telling her, I got angry with her. In January she asked me if I still loved Hannah, so I told her it was a long time ago and that is how our last fight started.

Someone Like You

In May, my cousin got married and I was lucky enough to be in his wedding party.  My cousin asked me if I would sing a song during the reception with one of the bridesmaids and I happily agreed until his bride requested we sing "Someone Like You" by Adele. I can't figure out why this song is played at so many weddings because it really is a breakup song in my opinion.
The song turned out really well and I really enjoyed working with Kristina, the bridesmaid I sang with. While we were practicing we decided that it would also be fun to record it and give it as a gift to the bride and groom.
(Sorry, I don't know why the video size is like that and the quality is so poor :/)

This connection won't work as nicely written out as it worked out in my head but this song did make me realize a few things. For the last half of my time at High School, I was haunted by the death of the girl who I had fallen in love with. Her death made me the angriest and most upset that I had ever been and will always be one of the worst losses I will ever experience. It is something that I was afraid to heal from because I didn't want to forget or move on and disrespect her memory because I truly believe that if she hadn't died, we would still be together. But I decided that when I was abroad I had to leave my past behind and that included Hannah. I became, well, easy. I thought that casual hookups and one-night stands were just part of the traveling lifestyle and a part of the experience. The reason I had to keep my hair dyed brown is because I brought more girls back to my hotel room while my hair was that colour than when it was blonde. A small part of me might have actually believed that what I was doing was the healthy thing. But I have learnt, to best respect the people who I have left behind is to continue on in my life as normally and as similarly as possible. 

And so, I have put myself out there again, this time in a responsible and respectful way of course. I have been on a few dates with a few girls over the past few months and, there might be a girl. Nothing serious though; she doesn't even know my natural hair colour and I haven't told her about the car crash yet or how I tried to commit suicide. This isn't the time to rush, she still has a lot to learn about me and there is plenty I don't know about her; hopefully what I don't know about her isn't quite as heavy. 

This might be one of the only times "Someone Like You" can almost make sense to me. If I can find someone as kind and loving as Hannah, someone with as beautiful a soul, someone who can make me smile like she did; well then, I will be a very lucky man.  

 

The Truth

In September last year I started feeling kind of upset. I just assumed that I was still grieving for my mom or my friends or just grieving for my old life. Obviously these losses will never fully heal and I think of them everyday but it could not account for the extreme loss of feeling I suffered last year. At more than a year after the fact I don't think that it can even be considered a trigger. In January, I told you all that I went to Haiti for a few months and volunteered with orphans. That was extremely cowardly of me and I regret lying to you all. I was ashamed that I became depressed and needed to get help or I would have successfully killed myself. That post has been weighing on me and I feel as though I should clear the air, this is what happened instead.

This post will get kind of graphic.  

In late September I sat on my roof just above my bedroom window, from there I can see the water of Deep Cove and the marina where the boats leave the dock every morning. I used to sit up there a lot. When I first discovered the place it was exhilarating. Once I had reached the peak I straddled the roof and looked in awe at the perfect view, no screen from a window or railing from a balcony blocking any part of it, for about 5 seconds before my mom saw me as she was eating her breakfast on the back patio. She forcefully controlled her voice, speaking slowly and deliberately while trying not to let it tremble, she ordered me to get off the roof and get into my room. Once I got to the safety of the floor inside my home she yelled at me for so long that I missed the bus for school and she had to drive me in, during which time she yelled some more. Her yelling deterred me for a week but the excitement of being so high and seeing so much overwhelmed the fear of another angry mom. I would wake up early in the mornings to sneak a sit before my mom would wake up and then whenever I became angry with her I would go sit up there to scare her. Before long if I was ever upset or just bored I would go to the roof and wait it out a while. The thrill of the adventure died down and the roof became a peaceful solitude. Every time I returned though, I felt something, starting with excitement until it turned into peace. When I returned to the spot after at least two years I expected the same emotions to return. The roof seemed steeper and the drop to the ground must have doubled, but when I made it to the top I didn't feel excited and I didn't feel peace. I sat up there and the view didn't impress me. I wanted my mom to be eating breakfast on the patio and to see me and yell at me to "get back inside the house immediately young man", or for my brother to wonder where I was and just know that I'd be on the roof and join me even though he was as terrified as my mom of falling. None of that happened, I just sat on the roof in the mild September air.

I slid down the roof and back into the window. I walked down the basement where I relocated to get some space from Izzy and my dad (they have broken up since, and is currently trying out the single life). I put my hair wax and cologne on my bedside table then went into my closet and pulled out my grey suit, white dress shirt, black tie, black dress shoes, socks, boxers, undershirt, watch, and tie clip. I laid them all out on my bed for my dad. I pulled two letters out of my top desk drawer addressed to my dad and to Paul and slipped them into the suit jacket's inside breast pocket. I checked to make sure my room was in order then I hung up the clothes I was wearing and moved to the bathroom. I turned the shower on and got the water warm then moved to the sink to shave. I looked at my brown hair and for a second wished that it was blond again. I turned off the tap, washed the stubble down the drain and straightened the hand towel on the bar. I stood in the shower because the water would stop the blood from clotting. 

My dad came down to my room maybe twenty minutes after I got into the shower. He was making waffles and wanted to know if I had breakfast yet. I didn't lock my bedroom door or the bathroom door, they weren't even closed. He must have walked into my room and knocked on the open door calling my name. When he didn't get a response he walked in and saw my clothes laid out on the bed and called my name again, maybe a bit louder. He could already hear the shower going so he peered his head in the door to see if I was there, not seeing anything he walked into the bathroom and moved toward the shower. He couldn't see my silhouette through the fogged up glass door but he tried my name one more time. Getting no response he slowly opened the door and saw my body passed out on the shower floor. He quickly pulled the top half of my body out of the shower and onto him and he reached for the towels beside him while calling for Izzy to hurry and help. My body was already getting cold and pale but he wrapped my forearms tightly in hand towels and called an ambulance.

The paramedics arrived and tried to stabilize me with a saline solution so I was well enough to be moved to the hospital. I spent a few weeks there recovering physically until I was released to a centre in Washington. My dad visited me there every day until December when I was allowed to return home and make the adjustment to everyday life once again.     

Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité: Haiti

A few of my roommates 

Hunter with Simon

On the first of September this past year I went to Haiti for fifteen and a half weeks.  I flew to Port-au-Prince where I stayed the night and met up with four guys from Australia who were taking a semester off to volunteer in Haiti.  From there we flew in a very small passenger plane to Hinche in central Haiti whose airport had a very short and very unpaved runway on which both people and livestock like to spend time.  The guys (Lachlan, Jaedan, Hunter, James) and I began our training and orientation in Hinche. The man who ran our orientation, Dr. Jean Caleb, also directed an orphanage for boys between the ages of 5 and 13 so that is where we stayed. Jaeden and I became the newest roommates of sixteen 9 year old boys for a week and a half.  While the boys were in school, we did our training and when school ended for the boys we helped them with their homework, helped to prepare dinners, and played soccer with them in the field across the street.  In our training, we learned basic Haitian first aid and how to administer vaccinations.  Once our training was completed we traveled with Dr. Caleb to many different villages in central Haiti where he offered free health care to those in need and Hunter, James, Jaeden, Lachlan and I went to the primary schools or orphanages and gave children vaccines for typhoid and hepatitis A.  In the last three weeks that we were there, we left Dr. Caleb and went to another village in central Haiti close to the border of the Dominican Republic to begin work on a high school.  A local man was in charge of the project and we met with him for a day where he handed us some plans, explained how to dig and pour a good foundation and then left and said that he would come back if he found time and we didn't see him again in the three weeks we were there.  The biggest problem with building the school was that a lot of the supplies like the loose gravel and the concrete needed for the foundation and the lumber and cinder blocks needed for the actual building could not be delivered to our site because the road was not equipped to handle the truck. Thankfully, we had a lot of help from the young guys who would attend the school when it was complete; after we had marked out the area that had to be dug out for the foundation and showed the guys how deep they had to dig, Lachlan, Hunter, James, Jaedan and I started hauling the 60 pound bags of gravel and cement down the very muddy 10 kilometer path from the truck to the site of the high school.

I flew back home and my dad picked me up at the airport and drove me back to my home. I walked through the front door and my fathers wonderful girlfriend Izzi came running to the foyer to welcome me but stopped about ten feet away and told me that I stank, that I had to stay there and that she would get a garbage bag so I could throw the clothes that I was wearing away before they got any farther into the house.  To be fair I did smell and me and my clothes were covered in a good layer of dirt and other things, I only could bring three sets of clothes with me and they never really got washed and the closest that I had gotten to a shower in the past three weeks was when it rained.  After I threw away my shirt and shorts, nearly the entire contains of my backpack and, my backpack, Izzi decided that I still smelled too bad so she made me walk around the entire house to the back doors in the gym and then shower in the bathroom attached to the gym because she never uses that one. It made me angry that Izzi made me walk around the house in the cold without much clothing on and that I had to shower in the worst shower in the house. 

And then I realized, my house has nine bathrooms. I traveled all over central Haiti and I did not see one flushing toilet, in Haiti, many of the people I saw had to bathe in the stream where they get their drinking water and I was angry that I had to shower in the worst of the seven showers in my house. I live in that house with my dad and his girlfriend, there are seven bedrooms, seven rooms that are reserved for nothing but sleeping.  Sixteen 9 year old boys made room for two more people in their one small shared bedroom.  I saw extended families of ten or twelve people all living together in a one room home. I have five extra bedrooms with five extra beds that stay empty nearly all the time.  Not surprisingly, reverse culture shock hit hard but I am still glad to be home.

My Story. Part One.

My life is an unbelievable story, one with twists and turns through valleys and dark caverns. It has seen pain and sorrow, fear and stress. I suppose I have seen some happy times, when I was on top of the world, gloating in the sunshine.  Often times though, when I look back, on all that has happened to me I see dark clouds swirling and pacing, waiting to unleash the storm of lightning, thunder, and blood-red rain.  I have been weathered down by the always constant storm.  My face has deep gouges etched out where the rain water runs down.

Small and fleeting moments of hope scurry through the story here and there.  But they are always hunted, stalked and devoured in the tall grasses by the predators; sadness and despair, until nothing is left except the decaying carcasses of what once was life.

Every time that happiness entered the story I was forced to return to the dark gray building where my life began with such fear and uncertainty. It is the place where souls haunt the hallways and the beds are filled with scared and clammy patients.  The smells in there burn my nose and nobody walks at a normal pace.  Some people there walk painfully slow, attached to machines, shuffling each foot forward always hunched over and looking down, they are as close to the wall as possible as if they are trying to hide in the shadows because they are not important enough for the middle of the hall. The people who use the middle of the hall run hurriedly from room to room making long loud echoes bounce off the wall.  So many people talk in hushed voices with dark shadow eyes because of the horrible fluorescent lighting.  It doesn't really matter because people do there best to avoid eye contact there because eyes are so rarely filled with bright hope for the future.

My hair is brown now and my eyes are blue. I am about 6'3" and I have learned the art of escaping reality.  All my life I have been running away from the scene.  Whether I run away to a distant country or I evade the truth of things by hiding in music, my best tactic to deal with something is to distract myself from it and hope that it will disappear.  It never does. I run from the gray buildings and I hide in a brightly lit room where the clouds cannot cover me in their iron cloak. I outrun the clouds for as long as possible and find a bright beach somewhere the problems cannot reach me.

The Person You Became

I told my dad and my brother right around the time that my mom passed away that I kept a blog. Paul showed interest in it and apparently now checks it and comments on my posts. But my dear father said, "No, that is what soccer moms do to pretend that they have meaningful lives. I think your mom kept one once." And then he got slightly hostile to the idea. Just to be clear, Barney Stinson (how i met your mother) keeps a blog. And he is not a soccer mom. I figured that pretty much guarantees to me that my dearest father won't ever check my blog or read this post so I can write it all out before I decide to go talk to him in real life.

You changed yourself for me.  I am flattered don't get me wrong.  You actually listened to the little hints that I gave, you picked up on the things that annoyed me. And I am surprised that anyone would put in this much effort just to make me happy.  You told me that you stopped working as much because you knew how much I hated that you seemed to put your work before everything.

There are two parts to this though, the first is that you changed, but the second is that everything else changed as well.

You changed and it scared me. The things that you changed to make me happy were the things that I loved most about you because it is what made you, you.  You changed your personality, you changed the way you spoke but you stopped listening. All that I wanted was for the old you back but I had no right to ask for that. You probably just wanted to old me back too.

I started a new journey and we started sharing stories but if I am honest, I thought that your stories were boring and I just didn't understand them because the people in them meant nothing to me. I could have tried harder but I just thought that my stories were better, I thought that I didn't need to listen to you or talk to you because in a way you were old and boring. I wasn't always able to talk, that is more an excuse than anything because I could have found the time if I wanted to. My new life was so exciting and fast paced and I didn't want to slow down and fall behind because you had a story of how you learned to make pasta for yourself.

It took you longer to keep your life going.  I felt like your nagging was constantly dragging me down, every time I talked to you you were shy and reserved and you were not at all the person that I used to admire. I don't know where your friends went at that time or where Paul and Michelle were because you seemed so alone and empty when had our very few and awkward conversations.  I didn't enjoy talking to you as much because you weren't you.  If you had just stayed yourself then our relationship would be so much different right now, we would be happier with each other, we would be so much closer. But this isn't your fault still, I should have been more sensitive, it was the first time ever you were alone. I just abandoned you but I needed time to figure myself out. I just wanted you to stay the same and to be a rock because I had no idea where I was going or what was going to happen to me next and then you just faded away.

Just a few years ago I tried so hard to have a relationship with you, any kind at all, but you just brushed me off. So I know how much it hurt for you this year.  A little sadistic part of me though, almost enjoyed putting you through that because it was about time that you learned what it was like to be in my shoes.

You seem to be doing so much better, now you are really happy. I have no right to be part of your happiness, I know.  After all I ignored you when you could have used me most.  I am glad that you are happy and I would like to be an even bigger part of it if you'd let me.

I just would like to let you know that I really am sorry for what happened. I am sorry for being insensitive and distant. I am sorry that part of me is jealous of Izzi, but I promise to be as nice to her as I possibly can. Maybe it is just the narcissist in me thinking this but if I pushed you away from me and towards her then I am sorry for ignoring you but I promise that I will try harder from now on.  I already lost one parent and I am not going to lose the other one as well.

I don't want for us to go back to the way we were before all of this but back to the way we were headed.

I Wouldn't Bet On It

Sometimes I don't make the best decisions. I will be the first person to admit that.  So in February, when Paul and Michelle visited me in New Zealand, Paul made me a bet that was rather inappropriate and if I told you the details some of you would lose a lot of respect for me. Over the course of ten days, Paul and I were in this bet, half way through I had to dye my hair brown.  If I won, he would pay for my hotels for the rest of the trip so I wouldn't have to stay in hostels all the time and he would pay for my flights, first class. But if he won I wasn't allowed to dye my hair back to the original color and I would have to keep it brown for the next three years. And when I say dye my hair, I mean all of it, my eyebrows, and everything.  I bet on blonde me, he bet on brunette me.  

People do not recognize me anymore.

I lost the bet. 

Apparently brown-haired me was just better at this task than regular blonde William.  

I guess blondes don't actually have all the fun.

I don't mind brown haired William, it just seems to change my entire appearance. Which wouldn't be a problem except when I was away this year I pretty much went through puberty part two and now my voice is like a half octave lower and I am pretty sure my facial structure changed a little bit because I get a wrinkled forehead all the time now. 

I didn't mind brown-haired William until my grandmother didn't recognize me. I was like, "Oh hey, how have you been this past year G-mom?" 

And then she said, "WHO ARE YOU?" 

And then I had to try and explain to her that it was just me, the grandson that went missing for a year and she didn't really believe me and made me answer questions about myself like what my real first name was and what my mom used to call me when I was little. I think she is a bit skeptical still. 

So if your thought process was going like this before reading this post: who is this guy that William is putting pictures of on his blog? OH MY GOD ITS THAT PARISIAN GUY! William is probably dating him now. Who would have thunk that he was GAY? Well I am not THAT surprised.

To clear things up, those are pictures of me, not Adrian the guy from Paris.  I only say this because someone saw a picture and then asked me if it was Adrian and before I could say no, he was telling me how good it was for me to find someone and that he was proud of me for being open with my sexuality and that he sort of suspected it all along. It was an awkward moment.    

So now your all caught up on the physical changes of William. And if I post more singing songs, I sound different because of that whole puberty part two. 

Anyways morals to take from this story are:
1. Call your grandma when you are going through puberty so that she will still recognize you.
2. Don't lose a bet where you have to change your hair color for three years when you lose.

3. Cut people off when they are about to get your sexuality wrong.

There and Back Again

Everyone told me to take a year off, to take time to travel since it was something that everyone knew I liked to do.  They told me to go to different countries and take in all the world has to offer, the different foods, the cultures, languages, and architecture. And I did just that. I returned to old favorites, and I went to new and adventurous countries and I truly enjoyed it all. 

I went around the world but I didn't find myself or discover a new life passion, I didn't become a Buddhist monk or realize that guinea pig was my new favorite food even though it is a delicacy in Ecuador. I actually found out that I really didn't care for any of the traditional delicacies in any of the places I visited.

Relationships struggled.  I was gone for a long time and in some places like Tanzania or Iceland cell reception and internet connections were few and far between.  It could be really lonely traveling alone and slightly depressing at times. Sometimes I felt strangely isolated; whether I was in a crowded Tienanmen Square with people asking me to take a picture with them simply because I had blonde hair or I was in the Sahara desert with only a guide, and two Afrikaners I had recently met.  I would go days without having any real kind of conversation with someone, but then I would call my brother or I would meet a few other travelers from various countries and we would spend a couple days together wandering around a city until we each headed our own ways. In December I met up with my dad for a few days in Los Angeles and in February, Paul and Michelle visited New Zealand with me.  By a complete fluke I saw a few people on a trip with my high school near the Berlin Wall in March.

The solitude came as a well needed break though.  I didn't miss the difficulties of having conversations with my dad, or the awkward moments with friends as they talked about a topic I still wasn't comfortable with. I liked that there wasn't always someone breathing down my neck to make sure that I was still okay and to make sure that they were there in case I needed something. 

There was a freeing sense of relief because there was always something to do.  I never had to worry about having nothing to do except sit around with my thoughts all day. I would get back to my hotel or hostel every night exhausted from the days activities and I would sleep happily. I worked in a fishing boat off the coast of Portugal for two weeks, I volunteered at an orphanage in rural Haiti and I spent a few days as an English teacher in Korea. I met a Parisian guy who offered to let me stay at his apartment while I was in Paris for the week, I kindly accepted; later that first night he took me to a place called Raidd bar which is really a gay club with male dancers showering in little glass boxes around the room.  I experienced a lot.   

I went from the beaches in Greece to the beaches of Dieppe, from Chinatown in San Francisco to Beijing, China. I stood on the equator while in the Galapagos Islands and I went past the Arctic Circle in Norway where I swam in the Norwegian Sea and saw the midnight sun. 

I was gone for 54 weeks, I went to 5 Continents and the following 28 countries; Dominica, Martinique, St. Lucia, Barbados, Grenada, Haiti, Ecuador, Laos, Singapore, South Korea, China, Japan, USA, India, Nepal, New Zealand, Australia, Marshall Islands, Germany, Netherlands, France, Portugal, Tanzania, Chad, Jordan, Iceland, Norway and Greece. Some countries, I only had the chance to stay the night like Dominica or Nepal, but I made up for that by spending four weeks in India and another four New Zealand.

Oh, the Places You'll Go!

Blogger Has Changed.

It has been over a year since my mom died, and now close to three since my friends have died.  I came back home expecting those memories to take over my life again like they did before I left.  I was expecting to come back to the stunted cage and the short chains that kept me hunched over and uncomfortable.  I am wishing that it was the case. I got home on August 2nd, after a long flight from Japan, to find out that life had continued while I was away.  
I am sorry my writing is awful, I haven't really had much human interaction for the past year because surprisingly the whole world doesn't speak English and as much as I wanted to believe it, I am not close to fluent in French.   
Anyways, my Father found his house empty.  Before Paul got married, two years ago there were five people living in the house; myself, Paul, Michelle, my Mom and Dad. And the next thing that you know, Paul and Michelle get married and move out, and then we lose my mom and I run away.  
I got so angry at my dad.  I know I didn't handle my moms death well.  I understand that I left my dad all alone.  But I couldn't handle everything there, everything being the same with the shadow of my mom everywhere around my house, my neighborhood and that city.  In January, Paul told me that dad had a girlfriend. I didn't talk to my dad for the next four months.  Then as every spoiled child realizes, I needed to live at his house again when I came back from my little adventure.  I hate myself.
But not more than I hate my dad.  
I get off the plane, did you know that a flight from Japan to Canada is nearly a full day. I was tired, I was sick of sushi, and rice, God I am sick of rice. And I go to find my dad at the airport. And there he was. Some blonde bimbo on his arm and she is like 10-15 years younger than him. I wanted to puke.  But I had to be nice, so I went up to him, and introduced myself to whom I assumed was his girlfriend that I had heard about in January, Janelle.  So I said, "Oh hey, you must be Janelle."
She wasn't Janelle.  
Her name is Izzi. Like Isabel but shorted and then spelled stupidly. And she was so excited to meet me because she had heard so much about me.  And she looked at me with such stupidity and excitement. And then she put her hands on my cheeks and looked at me sad and said, "I am sorry for what has happened to you but I am so glad you are home again." 
Izzi lives at my house. 
My father has another woman living with him.
It took me nearly two years before I saw someone after Hannah died but I didn't go and move in with her, I was in a foreign country for a week and then moved on. And Hannah and I did not even date for that long.
My dad was married to my mother for 26 years. And she hadn't left his bed for a year before he filled it with some dumb blonde chick.  It took me 500 more days to get over my girlfriend that it took him to get over his wife. We got to the same point nearly at the same time but my mom died 500 days after Hannah. 

How could he do that to my mom?  He disrespected her with Legally Blonde. My mom picked out the sheets that you two are sharing.  My moms clothes were in that closet just a few months ago and if she hadn't died they would still be there, Izzi.  My father is the worst man alive.  Just someone put a bullet in the back of my head please.     


Yeah it has been a year since I have been on here. No big deal right? Nobody even checks this anymore anyways, right? Cool. 

Travels

Let me tell you something freeing about traveling around.  This fact may seem depressing to some and it is probably the reason why many people return home after a short while.  This is the thing that I love so much about traveling right now though.  

When I am traveling, when I was in Kenya a few weeks ago, I met so many new people, and there, I wasn't the kid who was in a car accident and lost everyone, I wasn't the one who lost his mother months ago.  To them I was something strange and different, something that they did not know and something that they didn't need to know.  Nobody cared about my past, however while climbing the mountain a few questions were raised about how well I could actually do it considering my knee.  

What I am really trying to get at, is that when I travel, I have no past, nobody recognizes me so very few of my old labels may be stuck on my back. I don't get automatic sad eyes from everyone around me.  People don't talk to me and ask me "How are you doing?"  I can talk to new people and before anything about my personal self and past has to come up, I have left for a new country or a new city.  When I travel, I feel free, without a past, nothing tying me down.  

I think that people who have left for university are feeling similar things now, they don't have to be their old self, they can if they want, but if you need to reinvent yourself, if you want to be more outgoing, more adventurous, or less snobby now is the time to do it.  

I highly recommend traveling, don't go with a set plan.  You could go from climbing Kilimanjaro to sitting in a cafe in Moscow writing a blog about nothing important.  

Travel, especially if you need a break from your past