@wyclin

“Do you ever get lonely, travelling alone?” - one of my friends asked me one day.

I stopped and reflected. I scanned my memories back and forth. I tried to picture, but oddly enough, I had trouble recalling a moment where I’d felt lonely. I was surprised. Wait. You must have just forgotten. Come on, you’ve been on the road by yourself for months now and there was never a moment where you felt lonely? Come on, think. Think harder.

I tried to retrace the days.

———————————-

The very first night I arrived in Tijuana, Mexico. I walked into a small family restaurant and struggled to understand what was on the menu. The three daughters giggled as they too struggled to explain each item to me. I don’t really remember how my torta ended up tasting, but I do remember vividly their laughter.

On the bus to Mulegé, the man sitting next to me put his hand out in front of me. On it were some peanuts. I hesitated. He motioned for me to take some. I did and turning to him, smiled as we gobbled away on them. I showed him some of the photos I’d taken in Mexico and he nodded appreciatively.

In Mazatlán, the young boy who didn’t speak a word of English stayed with me the entire time, taking me from store to store until we finally found someone who could help me solve my SIM card problems. After seeing that everything was okay, he smiled at me and walked off. I didn’t even have a chance to ask his name.

Guadalajara: “You’re at the corner of Alcalde and Juan Manuel? Okay stay right there - I’m heading to pick you up!”

Zacatecas: “Come with me, I can ask in Spanish for you.”

Querétaro: “There’s a big music festival and I have extra tickets. You should come with us!”

Guanajuato: “Hello buddy, have you eaten? Here - have a quesadilla. Do you like it?”

Pátzcuaro: “These are my friends, David and El Pollo. You wanna grab a beer with us?”

In Mexico City, I ordered a replacement camera lens online. My host Angelica told me to ship it to her uncle’s house, since there would always be someone at home to sign for it. On Friday, the lens arrived and I went to pick it up in the afternoon. I buzzed the doorbell.

“Oh Wayne! Come on in!” - Ernesto, Angelica’s uncle, greeted me heartily.

“Have you had lunch?”

- “Yes, thank you.”

We went upstairs into the living room and Ernesto introduced me to Angelica’s aunt.

“Welcome! Have a seat, make yourself at home. Have you eaten?”

- “Yes, yes, thank you.”

“Are you sure? We have fruit, salad - I can make you some rice or pasta. You sure you’re not hungry?”

- “Oh no, I’m fine. Thank you very much.”

“How about to drink? Here, have some jamaica.”

After introducing me to everyone at home, insisting again and again on refilling my cup, Ernesto brought me the package with my new lens. I thanked him and rose to leave.

“Wayne, let me drive you to the metro station.”

- “Oh no, no… I’ll just walk.” (The station was a 5 minute walk away.)

“Are you sure? Come, I’ll take you.”

- “No, no, no - I’m fine. Thank you.”

He walked me down to the door and gave me a big hug.

“Remember Wayne, if you’re ever back in our country, know that you’ll always have a home right here.”

He waved at me from the door as I walked off.

———————————-

I responded to my friend.

Surprisingly, no. I haven’t been lonely at all - just a little sad sometimes, whenever I have to say goodbye.

On Friday night, I packed my bag and left Angelica’s apartment. She walked me down to the street and gave me a hug before I left. I thanked her again for letting me stay and promised to keep in touch. The straps of my backpack seemed to have loosened a little - I tightened them, waved as Angelica walked back into her apartment, then set off towards the bus station.

It hit me though, as I was crossing the pedestrian bridge - the city’s homebound traffic speeding by underneath.

What are the chances that I’ll ever see these people again? What are the odds? What guarantees do I have? Thinking back, they were but a few, short, shared moments. Just a few minutes, just a few hours, just a few days. Yet somehow - in those brief encounters, the smiles, the nods, the laughter, the conversation, the silence - somehow I managed to catch a glimpse of something sublime, something that pierced right into the heart, into the very essence of our human relationships themselves.

Travel highlights it. You can already see the Goodbye attached to each Hello. There is no “next time”. There is no “later”. It’s not harsh, it’s simple. And what overwhelms you, walking alone through a city that you’ve slowly come to open up your heart to, is not loneliness - after all, the lights, the sounds, the winds, the stars - they’re always by your side…

No, it’s not loneliness, but an abrupt sadness, a pang of sorrow that grips you, forcing you to concede that from that very moment on, everything that you’ve seen, everyone that you’ve met - they all exist only in your memory.

And in that moment, you try to make each step forward a little more deliberate, each breath a little more profound. You notice that the streetlights are gently beckoning to the moths with an amber, almost golden, hue. Purple camelina flowers lie quietly on the sidewalk, crushed underfoot by the pedestrians of the day. You pull your jacket a little tighter - after all, it’s begun to feel a little chilly. Looking on up ahead, you see that the road continues as far as the eye can see. The traffic roars by you, and the road, it winds on forward, on into the impenetrable distance.