#28 Deported, Bags Like Chekhov’s Gun

I thought about writing this for quite sometime now. I didn’t before, because I felt ridiculously sore about it  weeks after. To be a warrior at travelling, I have to accept that bad things happen, we fall, we brush ourselves off, we get up and we go again. (Plus it makes for a good 5-minute dinner party story.)

My boyfriend and I booked a trip to visit the famed Borobudur and some of the volcanoes in Java in February. I was more than psyched because it was close to the top of the to-see list for me. I sold the idea shamelessly to him, and since I did all the legwork as usual — trip planning, booking and all that jazz — he was agreeable. Sounds like another adventure waiting to happen.

A little sense of foreboding nagged at the back of my mind. My psychic mind told me it’s not going to be a volcanic eruption or anything of that sort. I prayed that the budget airlines plane will fly straight.

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#27 In Travel, We Gain Some, We Lose Some

I am the kind of person who likes to run all over the place. I don’t like to be forced to stick around too long in one place. So I wandered here and there, whenever I can.

I always thought that travel makes a person more tolerant, more easygoing, more devil-may-care. In a way, yes, you learn to accept all sorts of things, just having experienced something, you usually get a sense of “oh it could be worse” in retrospect.

Indeed, it could be worse. As I moved through places, culture and people, I slowly turned critical, and started to paint a picture of what a correct world should look like. It is ironic, for I have gone from uninitiated and inexperienced, to fairly tolerant, and then back full circle again, to being a stickler about things.

Let me explain.

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