There are some places in the world that have seen so much that our presence there makes the world seem so big and so old that it is a difficult feeling to share.
That was the Sahara Desert for me, being able to be in a place that has had so many story cycles, that being in one, however small, made me feel big, in a small way.
I stayed there for about a month, where my routine consisted of waking up, eating, working, and going to drink at night with the locals. One of the nights I left them talking in a dune and went for a walk alone. I wanted some quiet time for myself.
Lost in my thoughts it took me a while to realize that I was also physically lost. And then a thing hit my stomach, I started to think about what my mother would be like if I couldn’t find myself, I started to miss home so much that I couldn’t do anything but sit and cry
And in behind all those tears, I saw the moon. But I saw it, not only looked, I saw the moon
And the thought of returning home started to seem like cowardice.
And then, I realized, for real: I am traveling alone around the world, living a dream I have had since my mother read the little prince to me, when I was the age of a child. And that I was there, sitting on the top of a dune. In the middle of the night. In the most beautiful moonlight, I had ever seen. In the Sahara Desert.
It is, at the same time, frightening and liberating to realize that there is no other place in the world that I would rather be than lost there.
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