I am a nomad, a wanderer, a modern gypsy, a drifter, a vagabond, and a vagrant if you must. All of my memories are stored not only in my brain, but on the backpack I sling around my shoulder, the jean jacket that is sometimes tied around my waist, the pictures and videos on my infinite supply of SD cards. They are all there; the foreign foods, the different languages that had formed bits of sentences on my tongue, the dirt and water on my sneakers from earth's liquids and soils, the people I would never forget, the dancing and the singing, the happiness from being alive and being in awe constantly imprinted on my face, it is all there.

I've wanted to travel the world for as long as I can remember. I wanted careers that could take me places or offer me knew scenery; a singer maybe, or a mobile doctor, an archeaologist, a photographer, a writer or journalist, a painter, I couldn't exactly choose; I wanted to experience it all. Now, I realise I've done it, whether that be in my thoughts, or in a dream state, or in my personal favorite; reality. I like being alive, I don't like sleeping or blinking through it, because I may miss something special.

I thought I had found love in many places, people, and things on my adventures, but I eventually got bored and established that It wasn't real; it was interest, an infatuation, fleeting.