In the last twelve months my body has...
Recovered from flu’s and fevers, been exhausted and exhilarated, cried, laughed, and screamed. It has known the touch of a man and the embrace of good friends. It has feasted on cultural cuisines, hiked me up mountains, swam me into waterfalls, and bathed with elephants.
In the last twelve months my body has gained weight, lost weight, and gained it all back again (and then some). My body has had cuts and bruises, tan lines and pimples, stretch marks and haircuts.
I have known insecurity, but I have never been able to let it linger for too long: for the strength and resilience of my own small body never ceases to amaze me. When I think I can't hike any longer it lifts me up higher, when I think I can't run any faster it takes me further. Whatever I think I cannot overcome my body proves me wrong. And that is a beautiful thing.
I am proud of my body, and I love every inch of it. Each scar that tells a story, each stretch mark which shows growth, each pimple that comes and fades, each unruly curly hair on my head. All of this is who I am: my body is me, and I am my body. And for that I am proud. And you should be too.
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Monday, August 17, 2015
Thoughts from Places: A Return
I wasn’t going to write about this. It’s too personal I thought, too real. But coming back to reality is just as much a part of travel as the amazing adventures abroad, and I know many people who, like me, find it hard to readjust.
The truth is: coming back is hard. It’s hard because everything is the same, but you aren’t. It’s hard because you want to share your experiences, want to relive them by gushing about them to the friends you left behind, but they cannot relate. It’s hard because, believe it or not, life went on without you while you were away. People had their own excitement and joy, heartache and experience. And you missed out on that just as they missed out on you, and everything that happened between who you were and who you have become.
Coming back is hard because you miss the excitement. Because you crave the uncertainty of unfamiliar countries, and long for local cuisines that just aren’t the same in the West. Because you want to see the people you met along the way who you became so close with that you miss them like long lost friends, hoping that maybe they’ll understand that you are homesick for a place that was never truly your home.
Coming back is hard because when a place is laced with old memories it’s hard to find space to make new ones, and you don’t want to let go of all the ones you have just made. It’s hard because in the every day routine that you have returned to all of the wild & wonderful moments almost feel like a dream from another life, another version of yourself that you almost don’t recognise.
It’s hard to approach the familiar as you would the unknown, awkward to do alone here things that you would have been excited by there. It’s uncomfortable to conform to the comfortable.
But the return is just as much a part of the adventure as the journey itself. It may be hard, and it can get lonely at times, but it will never be so bad that the incredible experiences were not worth it. Embrace it; coming back may surprise you.
The truth is: coming back is hard. It’s hard because everything is the same, but you aren’t. It’s hard because you want to share your experiences, want to relive them by gushing about them to the friends you left behind, but they cannot relate. It’s hard because, believe it or not, life went on without you while you were away. People had their own excitement and joy, heartache and experience. And you missed out on that just as they missed out on you, and everything that happened between who you were and who you have become.
Coming back is hard because you miss the excitement. Because you crave the uncertainty of unfamiliar countries, and long for local cuisines that just aren’t the same in the West. Because you want to see the people you met along the way who you became so close with that you miss them like long lost friends, hoping that maybe they’ll understand that you are homesick for a place that was never truly your home.
Coming back is hard because when a place is laced with old memories it’s hard to find space to make new ones, and you don’t want to let go of all the ones you have just made. It’s hard because in the every day routine that you have returned to all of the wild & wonderful moments almost feel like a dream from another life, another version of yourself that you almost don’t recognise.
It’s hard to approach the familiar as you would the unknown, awkward to do alone here things that you would have been excited by there. It’s uncomfortable to conform to the comfortable.
But the return is just as much a part of the adventure as the journey itself. It may be hard, and it can get lonely at times, but it will never be so bad that the incredible experiences were not worth it. Embrace it; coming back may surprise you.
Tuesday, August 11, 2015
Travel
I have known many loves.
The love of my family: Never wavering, never questioning, ever present a short reach away. A love that taught me how to walk through the world, how to touch and be touched by my fellow people, of every creed and race.
The love of friends: Unapologetic and without judgment. A love that allowed me to grow from the best version of my awkward adolescence into the best version of my tentative womanhood. A love that taught me to laugh and gave me the safety to cry.
The love of a boy: True and honest, and young and eager, however temporary it was. A love that taught me as much in its ending as it did in its life.
Yet, of all the loves I've known, none is as much a part of me as the love of travel. A love that inspires me, guides my every footstep and dances with my future before I think to look ahead. A love that stole me as a child; creeping into my bones and infecting my marrow, and has wed me as an adult; binding with my blood cells and coursing through my veins. An ever present love, a companion when I need it most, and an ally when I don't. A friend.
A love of opportunity: the opportunity to visit with a family friend, a friendship forged in Trinidad & Tobago, borne in Texas, USA, and stretched all the way to Manila, Philippines. A love that has given me many friends, in every city I have explored. A love that allows me to bathe with elephants, cuddle with koalas, and hike with monkeys. An endless, generous love.
This love I bear is the most devoted love I have known, as much a part of me as my quick legs and restless soul. So even when I travel alone, with no companion but my duffel bag and naïve hopes, I am in the company of love: the love of travel.
The love of my family: Never wavering, never questioning, ever present a short reach away. A love that taught me how to walk through the world, how to touch and be touched by my fellow people, of every creed and race.
The love of friends: Unapologetic and without judgment. A love that allowed me to grow from the best version of my awkward adolescence into the best version of my tentative womanhood. A love that taught me to laugh and gave me the safety to cry.
The love of a boy: True and honest, and young and eager, however temporary it was. A love that taught me as much in its ending as it did in its life.
Yet, of all the loves I've known, none is as much a part of me as the love of travel. A love that inspires me, guides my every footstep and dances with my future before I think to look ahead. A love that stole me as a child; creeping into my bones and infecting my marrow, and has wed me as an adult; binding with my blood cells and coursing through my veins. An ever present love, a companion when I need it most, and an ally when I don't. A friend.
A love of opportunity: the opportunity to visit with a family friend, a friendship forged in Trinidad & Tobago, borne in Texas, USA, and stretched all the way to Manila, Philippines. A love that has given me many friends, in every city I have explored. A love that allows me to bathe with elephants, cuddle with koalas, and hike with monkeys. An endless, generous love.
This love I bear is the most devoted love I have known, as much a part of me as my quick legs and restless soul. So even when I travel alone, with no companion but my duffel bag and naïve hopes, I am in the company of love: the love of travel.
Monday, August 3, 2015
Thoughts from Places: Cambodia
The hardest part of travel is not the carrying of heavy bags, not the uncomfortable transportation or even constantly wondering when next you will have a nice shower. The hardest part of travel is always the end.
Cambodia was a dream: a learning experience in the history of the country and the boundaries of my own humanity. I chose to tackle this part of the trip on my own. No tour to guide me, no activities booked ahead of time, just myself and my dreams - which quickly became a reality.
The contrast of leaving the big, chaotic, over-populated, hustle and bustle of Saigon in Vietnam and landing in green Cambodian fields was a welcome change. The tuk-tuk ride from the airport to my hostel was one of the happiest moments of my entire trip. There is something quite regal about traveling by tuk-tuk. With the wind in your hair and the dust in your eyes, the cab is open for all the world to see – and boy do they stare! And then I smile. And suddenly they come to life behind their enthusiastic waves and the excitement in their eyes. “They”, these people I will never see again: Cambodians, preserved in my mind as a passing blur of happiness.
This is my favourite part of traveling. The everyday reminder of the rapid nature of friendships forged en route. I get to know a friend that I already had but barely knew. I meet a girl with wildly curly blonde hair and a European accent, and before I even ask her where the bathroom is I know we are going to be friends. I am taken under the wing of my friendly tuk-tuk driver, and introduced to his family and welcomed into his rural village. I strike up a conversation with a young tour guide in a war museum and learn more about his life than I do about his country (though I learn a lot about both). I may choose to travel alone, but I am never truly alone. I am never lonely: I am constantly in the company of future friends.
I learned so much in Cambodia. I learned to enjoy my own company and to make strangers into friends. I learned about the tragic and violent history of the country, but also about the welcoming and kind nature of its people. I learned about the ancient Khmer empire and the amazing architecture that has survived centuries, tangled with trees. I learned about the circus school that teaches children how to make laughter a career. I learned how to smile in moments of silence when no one is watching. Most importantly I learned about the resilience, and the hope for the country. And I learned to love it.
Cambodia was a dream: a learning experience in the history of the country and the boundaries of my own humanity. I chose to tackle this part of the trip on my own. No tour to guide me, no activities booked ahead of time, just myself and my dreams - which quickly became a reality.
The contrast of leaving the big, chaotic, over-populated, hustle and bustle of Saigon in Vietnam and landing in green Cambodian fields was a welcome change. The tuk-tuk ride from the airport to my hostel was one of the happiest moments of my entire trip. There is something quite regal about traveling by tuk-tuk. With the wind in your hair and the dust in your eyes, the cab is open for all the world to see – and boy do they stare! And then I smile. And suddenly they come to life behind their enthusiastic waves and the excitement in their eyes. “They”, these people I will never see again: Cambodians, preserved in my mind as a passing blur of happiness.
This is my favourite part of traveling. The everyday reminder of the rapid nature of friendships forged en route. I get to know a friend that I already had but barely knew. I meet a girl with wildly curly blonde hair and a European accent, and before I even ask her where the bathroom is I know we are going to be friends. I am taken under the wing of my friendly tuk-tuk driver, and introduced to his family and welcomed into his rural village. I strike up a conversation with a young tour guide in a war museum and learn more about his life than I do about his country (though I learn a lot about both). I may choose to travel alone, but I am never truly alone. I am never lonely: I am constantly in the company of future friends.
I learned so much in Cambodia. I learned to enjoy my own company and to make strangers into friends. I learned about the tragic and violent history of the country, but also about the welcoming and kind nature of its people. I learned about the ancient Khmer empire and the amazing architecture that has survived centuries, tangled with trees. I learned about the circus school that teaches children how to make laughter a career. I learned how to smile in moments of silence when no one is watching. Most importantly I learned about the resilience, and the hope for the country. And I learned to love it.
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
Thoughts from Places: Vietnam
Hanoi: There is a certain insecurity that goes along with traveling on your own in an unfamiliar place, especially when you first arrive. Your bags take forever, you don't know the currency exchange rate, your phone isn't working and you can't connect to wifi. But you're excited and amazed and nervous and cautious all at once.
The taxi ride from the airport is the first culture shock. Almost impossible because of the language barrier, but encouraging because of the driver's attempt to communicate despite it. And the city! The big, overcrowded, too hot, nerve racking, entirely amazing city.
Ha Long Bay: No amount of large tour groups and man made beaches can ruin the aesthetic wonder of Ha Long Bay. With 2,000 limestone islands, bottle green water that reminds me of home, naturally occurring caves and man-made attractions, it is no surprise that this is one of the seven wonders of the natural world.
Hue: Hue is almost the opposite of Hanoi. Streets wide enough for cars and motorbikes to coexist, friendly people and generous monks, forrests and rice fields, authentic food and cultural history lessons. A motorbike tour of the city is a one of a kind experience.
Hoi An: Nicer people, better food, calmer streets, and a prettier town. Hoi An is a wonderful slice of Vietnamese culture amidst the hustle and bustle of overwhelming big cities. While it is clear that almost everything is geared at tourists, the picturesque river town and genuine people happy to share their culture make it one of my favourite spots in Vietnam.
Nha Trang: It is possible to find authentic adventures and pockets of relaxation even in the busiest of cities overrun by Russian tourists.
Saigon: The real Vietnam. A big city with an authentic feel, culture and history every where you look. And a true sense of the open hearted and forgiving nature of the Vietnamese people.
All in all, Vietnam is a stunning country. Striking landscapes juxtaposed by major cities; the contrast of nature and pollution; the overwhelming noise and population; people that are happy, even if not always approachable; and peaceful.
In my time in Vietnam I did not see a country that is still picking itself up, did not experience a people that are holding a grudge. It may be naïve, but I could have easily spent two weeks here without confronting the violent history of this country.
Vietnam cannot be defined by its past, but the horrors of the war should not be forgotten. Yet Vietnam lives on: boasting its culture and sharing it's country with anyone open-minded and adventurous enough to experience it.
Friday, July 10, 2015
Thoughts from Places: Chiang Mai, Thailand
There are some things that are indescribable. Training, feeding, riding and bathing elephants is indescribable.
Above all, what I have come to notice in my travels is similarity. A tropical rainforest is a tropical rainforest whether it is on a Caribbean isle or the Southeast Asian subcontinent. Similarities are abundant, and inspiring. This is one earth, our earth, and we are one people. Separated, but connected by the land and seas we share, the planet we inhabit together.
In my travels I can, and do, find a connection with almost anyone I meet. And if we don't have one, we can make one. You're from Beirut? I've been there. You speak English? So do I. Your hair is curly? As is mine. We are all more connected than we realise, more similar than we ever admit.
And what better time to acknowledge this than playing with elephants with new friends and bonding with strangers on a jungle trek and hill tribe home stay in Northern Thailand?
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Tara Tour
Five years ago I was a seventeen-year-old mess. I was more confident than I should have been, thought I was funnier than I actually was, and committed to procrastination like it was a serious relationship.
At twenty-two not much has changed.
This month marks the five-year anniversary of my humble, sometimes ridiculous, all times open-hearted, honest little blog. Memoirs Of A Rat has grown up with me through the most incredible years of my life. It saw my senior year of high school, my year abroad in Italy, my first years in college, my first serious relationship, and now it continues to accompany me through yet another study abroad and more adventures through the world.
Five years ago I wrote a draft for one of my earliest blog posts. It was entitled my ‘5 Year List’. For reasons I cannot remember I never posted this list. I thought now would be the perfect time to share and respond to it:
1. Graduate from high school
I am happy to say I accomplished this first goal relatively easily.
2. Study abroad in Italy for a year
This, too, is one of my proudest accomplishments. I lived, I learned, and I grew in Italy. And I will be forever grateful.
3. Get my book published
While I don’t think I realised how ambitious this goal was, I admire my seventeen-year old devotion.
4. Get a job? (the question mark means it's something I know I should do, but probably won’t)
Again, at seventeen I thought I was witty. Happily, I have worked in two incredible internships in the last few years, volunteered in a Psychology lab on my university campus, and assisted other’s in their research tasks. I have gained invaluable experience and unbelievable clarity of my own through these jobs I once thought I may not want to do.
5. Get my first car (a Ford Ranger XLT please)
6. Learn how to take care of my car, I’m talking grease monkey strip down
7. Go shooting again
8. Learn how to take a gun apart and put it back together
I’m not sure why I thought cars and guns were so important to me back then, but I am willing to admit it was probably more for the image I wanted to portray than my actual interests. I can drive (a manual truck nonetheless),but I cannot maintain my car on my own. I have shot a gun, but only in a controlled situation, and I have not had any burning desire to pick one up since.
9. Learn some sort of wicked self defence, like walking-down-a-dark-alley-some-guy-jumps-me-from-behind-and-ends-up-regretting-it-big-time self defence
While I may not have learned ‘wicked self defence’, I can take care of myself. I’ve lived on my own for the last three or four years. I cook my own meals, I clean my own apartment, I manage my own expenses. I don’t need to know jujitsu to know what it takes to survive in this world, and basic but important skills like these are necessary. More importantly, I can defend myself from the world. I have strong opinions to the point of being stubborn, and I believe a woman can and should pay just as much importance to her mind as her physical strength. I am small, but I am powerful in my own way, I am in control of my self and my life. But I am not naïve.
10. Suddenly come across lots of money (I am not picky as to how this happens, just how much money I happen upon)
I am almost disappointed that this seemed so important to me at that time. I am incredibly fortunate and always have been in my family’s support of me. I will, one day, earn a living and be financially secure and comfortable. That’s all I need.
11. Go to Australia
Happily, I have just concluded one semester living and studying in Sydney Australia. I am encouraged by my own ability to work towards my goals, however trivial some of them may have been, and make my own dreams come true. I’ve never sit back and wait for things to come to me, I work hard and I achieve my goals. I am proud of that.
12. Pay my parents back for lots of things and buy my sister a very nice dress
One day, I will do both of these and more. Though no material goods could ever repay my family for their unwavering support and encouragement of me.
13. Go to college
I’m surprised at myself that a college education fell so low on my list – below cars and guns as a seventeen-year-old girl! However, I am three years into my four-year undergraduate program, with aspirations to continue my higher education. I could not be happier with my love for the studies I have chosen.
The last five years have been, undoubtedly, the most important years of my life. But I am no longer that miserable seventeen-year-old girl.
I turned eighteen and graduated from high school. I turned nineteen and lived in Italy. I turned twenty and found love. I turned twenty-one and lost love, but managed to find myself along the way. I turned twenty-two in Thailand.
No, I am far from who I was five years ago. And this blog has grown and matured with me from a pitiful attempt at comedy and a cry for attention, to a sharing of my life and my travels. This space is no longer the world as I want it to be, this is the world as I see it, as I choose to make it every day. This is no longer Memoirs of a silly young rat, this is a tour of my world, my lessons in life and learning: TaraTour.
At twenty-two not much has changed.
This month marks the five-year anniversary of my humble, sometimes ridiculous, all times open-hearted, honest little blog. Memoirs Of A Rat has grown up with me through the most incredible years of my life. It saw my senior year of high school, my year abroad in Italy, my first years in college, my first serious relationship, and now it continues to accompany me through yet another study abroad and more adventures through the world.
Five years ago I wrote a draft for one of my earliest blog posts. It was entitled my ‘5 Year List’. For reasons I cannot remember I never posted this list. I thought now would be the perfect time to share and respond to it:
1. Graduate from high school
I am happy to say I accomplished this first goal relatively easily.
2. Study abroad in Italy for a year
This, too, is one of my proudest accomplishments. I lived, I learned, and I grew in Italy. And I will be forever grateful.
3. Get my book published
While I don’t think I realised how ambitious this goal was, I admire my seventeen-year old devotion.
4. Get a job? (the question mark means it's something I know I should do, but probably won’t)
Again, at seventeen I thought I was witty. Happily, I have worked in two incredible internships in the last few years, volunteered in a Psychology lab on my university campus, and assisted other’s in their research tasks. I have gained invaluable experience and unbelievable clarity of my own through these jobs I once thought I may not want to do.
5. Get my first car (a Ford Ranger XLT please)
6. Learn how to take care of my car, I’m talking grease monkey strip down
7. Go shooting again
8. Learn how to take a gun apart and put it back together
I’m not sure why I thought cars and guns were so important to me back then, but I am willing to admit it was probably more for the image I wanted to portray than my actual interests. I can drive (a manual truck nonetheless),but I cannot maintain my car on my own. I have shot a gun, but only in a controlled situation, and I have not had any burning desire to pick one up since.
9. Learn some sort of wicked self defence, like walking-down-a-dark-alley-some-guy-jumps-me-from-behind-and-ends-up-regretting-it-big-time self defence
While I may not have learned ‘wicked self defence’, I can take care of myself. I’ve lived on my own for the last three or four years. I cook my own meals, I clean my own apartment, I manage my own expenses. I don’t need to know jujitsu to know what it takes to survive in this world, and basic but important skills like these are necessary. More importantly, I can defend myself from the world. I have strong opinions to the point of being stubborn, and I believe a woman can and should pay just as much importance to her mind as her physical strength. I am small, but I am powerful in my own way, I am in control of my self and my life. But I am not naïve.
10. Suddenly come across lots of money (I am not picky as to how this happens, just how much money I happen upon)
I am almost disappointed that this seemed so important to me at that time. I am incredibly fortunate and always have been in my family’s support of me. I will, one day, earn a living and be financially secure and comfortable. That’s all I need.
11. Go to Australia
Happily, I have just concluded one semester living and studying in Sydney Australia. I am encouraged by my own ability to work towards my goals, however trivial some of them may have been, and make my own dreams come true. I’ve never sit back and wait for things to come to me, I work hard and I achieve my goals. I am proud of that.
12. Pay my parents back for lots of things and buy my sister a very nice dress
One day, I will do both of these and more. Though no material goods could ever repay my family for their unwavering support and encouragement of me.
13. Go to college
I’m surprised at myself that a college education fell so low on my list – below cars and guns as a seventeen-year-old girl! However, I am three years into my four-year undergraduate program, with aspirations to continue my higher education. I could not be happier with my love for the studies I have chosen.
The last five years have been, undoubtedly, the most important years of my life. But I am no longer that miserable seventeen-year-old girl.
I turned eighteen and graduated from high school. I turned nineteen and lived in Italy. I turned twenty and found love. I turned twenty-one and lost love, but managed to find myself along the way. I turned twenty-two in Thailand.
No, I am far from who I was five years ago. And this blog has grown and matured with me from a pitiful attempt at comedy and a cry for attention, to a sharing of my life and my travels. This space is no longer the world as I want it to be, this is the world as I see it, as I choose to make it every day. This is no longer Memoirs of a silly young rat, this is a tour of my world, my lessons in life and learning: TaraTour.
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