I don't really understand it when people talk of wanting to belong.
I like being a tourist
Fleeting past people and places
Backpack on, water bottle on the side, a sling bag with the essentials
All that I need for a few days to come.
I like being a tourist
I like meeting the strangest of people and
pretending not to understand a word they say to avoid a conversation
I smile and nod and look away
I couldn't do that to my own
I wouldn't have homes to come back to then.
I like being a tourist
To not be part of anybody's world
But be a visitor
To see you put on your best behavior for me
Or sometimes even be ignored
With no burden of a meeting ever again
No burden of the need to collect favors for a rainy day.
I like being a tourist
Thinking passively about a home I collect souvenirs for
A home I can't wait to get away from
And a home I can't wait to get back to
Only to want out again.
Am I even a tourist, but?
What is my destination?
Does it matter where I am heading?
As long as I have the open road ahead of me
And quick change to get me by
And a home to head back to
Do I even need to introspect?
It doesn't matter where I go, what I do,
It's this few hours of detachment that counts.
This freedom and the high it brings.
The freedom of not having to belong
The freedom of not having to perform
The freedom of not having to perform
The freedom of not being a guest at your own home
The freedom of being just someone you meet in a bus
Only to forget.
- Ardhra Prakash
(February, 2019)
