I often catch myself wondering: am I traveling from or toward what? From my familiar life, from fatigue, from people, from my former self? Or toward a feeling where it becomes a little quieter and more honest inside? And honestly, the answer is different every time. Sometimes both. Sometimes neither.
Sometimes I walk down an unfamiliar street and think: what if I had stayed here? What if I had turned then, and not now? And how many "versions of me" are there scattered around the world in cities where I could live, love, be different? And which one is real?

Being a girl traveling is a constant dialogue with yourself. Should I trust this place? This person? This feeling? Am I brave now, or am I simply tired of being afraid? Where does intuition end and paranoia begin? Why are we sometimes afraid, yet still want to keep going?

The answer doesn't always come immediately. Sometimes it only comes in the next city.