It's 3 am and I'm writing to you from Jordan's Queen Alia airport, half woozy from sleep deprivation and half elated that I'm boarding another flight to Baghdad, Iraq in just 2 hours. I figured I didn't have any excuse to not write for once, a task that I've eluded these past few weeks. My creative cauldron has been so nutrient-deficient and scrambled-egg-like lately (and this piece is probably gonna resemble a makeshift stir fry of word vomit), but these global treks always seem to restore my sense of self in ways I can only describe looking backwards. 

I think a large part of this inner rejuvenation is driven by gathering inspiration and connecting with the unique parts of culture and community that I wouldn't otherwise have access to. That‘s why travel remains meaningful to me, even in a conscious attempt to cultivate stability, because of the sheer benefit that intentional immersion brings. You get to see the world 

, whether it's a flamboyant Airbnb host, an inquisitive Uber driver, a soulful tour guide, an artistic crafts salesman, or a whimsical food delivery worker. Each interaction is an invitation — one that births a quick glimpse into their universe, from the mundane to the meaningful.  

What was cool about the tail-end of my Israel experience is that I inadvertently stumbled into the holiest day in Judaism: Yom Kippur. This is the Jewish day of atonement, where the whole country literally shuts down — 

I'm talking the whole gamut of public transportation, restaurants, convenience stores, airports, you name it — 

and everyone fasts for 25 hours. No cars are allowed on the streets. Oh, and in the extreme technicality, you aren't supposed to use electricity or wifi or anything. So if there was any time to be 

 the one where the city itself hibernates is a solid shout. In other words, the world through 

While roaming the obscure parts of the world is one method to uproot your perceptions and preconceptions, there is already a stratosphere of opportunity at our fingertips: the black box called the Internet.A﻿s a resident rabbit hole wanderer, I love diving into other people's personal websites and seeing the inspiration that guides them through life. There's something special about seeing tender care over their corner of the web, a vibrant digital garden rife with plants that represent their labours of love and flags of creative expression. 

I'm impressed by people who are able to float within their thoughts and feelings; those who flirt with frameworks that are highly customized to their living conditions, and those who label their emotions with such vividness and legibility. Relatability is the ultimate outcome: if I sniff out my own essence through their words, a euphoric spark of electricity jolts my system. The nods and smiles come through, because for an instance I know that there's someone out there who understands me in that specific way. 

A top-tier example is this blog I stumbled on: 

. The sheer delight I felt after realizing that another person was also solo living in Istanbul was unmatched; had our timelines matched, I would've reached out for sure. I think the most impressive part about her documentation is the fluid, multimedia form each entry takes — the amount of care to sketch, animate, and  pool together thoughts about a budding love-hate relationship with a culturally-rich, chaotically-concentrated city. As I once had. My favourites from her inner dialogues: 

this animation came out today because i’ve been thinking of how istanbul, as a city, 

feels like living in the bottom of a well

. the city exerts an enormous gravity on you - such that walking its streets makes me feel as though i’m wading through molasses. 

to say that it is grounding or anchoring would be insufficiently accurate. 

it is disorienting, overwhelming, such a heavy place

 that i feel as though i will fall through the ground into the inner core of the earth. no wonder everyone sits around smoking instead.  

after two years of living like a nomad around the world, this is normal, I think. 

the ordeal of settling, grounding, pausing

 - it is like a birthing and death process. full of organs and shedding and blood. 

I haven’t written about my day to day life in a while - perhaps because, ever since I started traveling - (and even after I “stopped”) 

the days continue to float by like a dream,

 and I feel like an amnesiac half the time. despite experiences, emotions, and ideas feeling all-consumingly intense at the time of experiencing them, after they pass, I can’t remember much - of anything. 

i’m sensing into how part of learning to live in istanbul is 

 - how to grow gills, or swim, or just lay into the infinite black well, and surrender by floating. 

the effects of my trip to new york city wore off on me after just five days, and it was like 

istanbul flooded my system, not by osmosis, but deluge

. 

everything: the noise, the traffic, the people, the heat, the cats, the sounds of the azan, of honking, the buses like giant whales. 

This is the point in the piece where I say: writing will always be my first love (creatively), while﻿ performing is my side bae that I indulge in from time to time. But it would be a shame if I ignored other ways to create beauty. I develop crushes on people like Kening exactly because of their commitment to create, to excavate themselves, to pursue elegance, beauty, and truth for their own sakes. And it's seeing the world﻿ through their eyes that keeps me going, too. 

Here's to connecting more and creating more :) 