Writing While Traveling
Leie, Poeta, Vienna
A gentle wave and bise to you. Muses, do you write poetry when you travel?
It’s an eventful summer. We, the representation of life, are hungrier than ever for the simultaneous need to rest and get fed with stimulation. Dancing under the street lights, Greek traditional gatherings, and Spanish salsa dances during Belgian festivals. Mm, life gives and gives and gives.
While journeying, my hand grabs the pen parallelly. When I travel, I really need to document it. I can’t let my notebook stray away. Expressing views through my eyes is not a chore. The waves hitting the shore are calling to me. As soon as the soul is rested, the writing starts.
I do not have a notebook. I came here without it. Our backyard has a trampoline and a treehouse. The children of the group cherish it. They sing in French and the old golden retriever is sleeping restfully. The daylight hits my window every morning. With all the chaos and the depression of this year, the sun is hitting my window every day, without fail while I rest in France. The next afternoon I buy the first plain red notebook I see. And I begin to express my gratefulness for this beauty. Almost as if I’m praying.
So many muses here, in the land of fine notebooks and exceptional quality sketchbooks. Everywhere I look, beautiful people paint, write, and ask questions. Curiosity and calmness exist in balance here. I do not write for myself. I buy two high-quality notebooks and I write about the others. Every conversation I have with them and how society treats them. I write their stories. I never want to leave. We are out on green earth with many friends. We have wine and terrible moussaka(sorry, Germany). And yet I run back to my room to write. I love life and I am eager to write why so I don’t forget it.
The city is gold and my heart is golden. I am the Chrysanthemum after all. I walk the streets and push my notebook far back to the end of our luggage. I do not write here. I am endlessly tired and full from what I visit. Words are not enough here. Inspiration stays in but I don’t pour it out. Until the last day at the airport where I buy a small notepad. It’s a shopping list pad. But I start to scribe my experiences on it. Have you ever sat at the airport trying to create poems about Hofburg?
After every museum visit, I scribe things down after the guide. I am not his assistant even though people laugh about it. They have to know I have so much to express. I have connected and consumed too much art to just remain silent. A sad woman asks me if I am high. Thank god, I tell her. That I have life, beauty, and curiosity in me.
Muses, even in traveling. Creatives, even in silence. Why do we document it when we travel? Because it’s our way of appreciating life, of carrying it with us. Others use tattoos for that. We use paper. Our stories for our future families. We surround ourselves with beauty in the graceful manner of writing. Because we choose to create our own treasure chests.