I hate change. I hate travelling. I hate them so much, there exists no permutation of words or expressions in any existing language could express just how much I dislike them. I am not a disagreeable person, though, and I put up with changes and travelling pretty decently, considering I was uprooted from the city I’ve lived in for ten years and sent off to boarding school. Not only do I now live in a new place but I also travel back and forth despite being terrified of planes. So given the chance to be a nomad, I would refuse. I would stay in one place, in one neighbourhood and grow old with it. Unfortunately (or fortunately?) life doesn’t work according to wishes so I must just plod along and see how it does work.
My heart and soul, however, are not confined or attached to any single place. They are nomads, flying from one destination to another, weaving imaginative scenarios and places into the recesses of my brain which later materialise as plots on my computer or on paper. At any given moment, I could be thinking of a number of different places, scenes, characters because my mind flits from one to the other. I don’t mind my mind not concentrating on one thing for too long. Admittedly, this makes completing stories very difficult but it also allows me to peer into thoughts and words that I didn’t know I could think. Let my physical self be rooted to a single place and my heart wander like a meandering river and I’m happy.