This world has numerous interpretations and purposes or perhaps none at all. Maybe, we are here for a higher purpose. Or we might as well be just a random shout in the void. We don't know; perhaps, we never will. It all comes down to the stories we listen to and the tales we pass on. Maybe, all the versions are true while none of them really are. I believe we are only here to explore and write down what we find, tell our stories, then pass on to an afterlife which might as well be a moot absence. Nothing would delight me more than to travel the world with a diary in one hand and a pen in the other to places that have a story to tell; not towards the glint of a skyscraper but where nature shines in solace. I wish to decipher the lyrics of the song of the hills, the whisper of the trees, the music of birds and the sound of the seas. Maybe, after assimilating all the beauty of this world in my words, in the best possible way, I'll come to know of my true purpose here.
But when I'm not on a journey, not writing my own story but dealing with responsibilities and obligations, I seek solace among the printed pages, in lives and stories narrated by other people.
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