We were en route home for the night, our cab driver barely awake at the wheel. We spoke of how lucky we were, how opportunities opened for us and how we made our way around the world, together, just the two of us, without even thinking about it. Our gypsy lives and nomadic ways were a part of the norm. Living out of suitcases and homes that weren’t our own, sleepless nights on airport floors and new friends gathered along the way, were the ones we called family. Different cultures, precious memories, strange foods and stranger smells paved our road ahead. We thought we were brave, that we were doing it the ‘right’ way. Other days we grew tired and longed for something normal, whatever that might have been.
We adopted more strays, rescued lonely sheep from the middle of the road, fed malnourished kittens, petted starved cats and dreamed of owning our own animal sanctuary, so that no animal would ever have to live on the streets again. We squealed at the sight of wild rats, held our noses while walking past littered streams and some days, felt grateful to call this place, only our temporary home.
At night we would eat gado gado, tempeh and peanut sauce. We showered outdoors, held hands and let the nighttime wash over us. Our eyelids grew heavy and our breathing too. We slept with the aircon on and the covers tucked in tight.
Tomorrow would bring a new day, with soursop and mango smoothies, different paths to take and hours spent dreaming of our next journey, as though living in the moment wasn’t quite enough.