Week 12: Back in Lisbon

From Koh Phangan to Chiang Mai to Singapore to Koh Phangan (again) to Hoi An to Bangkok.

Three countries, three months.

Flights, ferries, busses, trains.

Too many.

And now, finally, Lisbon. I'm home. For the first time in months, I feel like I can breathe again. Doing basic things, like putting a succulent in the owl pot we got in Chiang Mai and walking along the running path with the best bridge view, is soothing to my nervous system. Even when the latter is already crowded by British bachelor parties on beer bikes.

This year marks a new beginning in more ways than one. Most significant is committing to being more settled. When your partner has the same travel bug as you, and your friends are spread out from Östersund to Ubud, it's hard to stand still. If we go here, we might as well pop by your brother's place and I really want to show you this place I visited five years ago, it's just a short flight away, why not?

(Hey, present Sanna to past Sanna, let me tell you why not: it is exhausting.)

When we landed in Singapore, where neither of us has been since pre-pandemic, we both smiled. "I love this airport," we said, simultaneously. Then we both shook our heads; how absurd are our lives that we have a favorite airport on a different continent and it sort of feels like home.

I remember that this sounded romantic to me at some point. The world is there for you to explore, new cultures, new experiences, a never-ending adventure. No limits when you are privileged with a Swedish passport. But nothing tastes good in excess. Not even chocolate. And while a nomadic lifestyle* has the flavor of freedom, it comes with a bitter aftertaste.

March is almost over, which means I'll soon be 37. Turns out that is the age when I have to do the math to figure out how old I actually am and at the same time come to terms with the fact I'll never feel older than 33**. Hopefully, it will also be the year I'll look back on and say that was how old I was when I finally was brave enough to put down roots.

* In my defense I was involuntarily nomadic from the start. Location commitment issues should be a legit diagnosis.

** My injured hamstring politely disagrees and considers my physical age to be closer to retirement at the moment.