Clueless Ink

Coming back from a trip with the right person feels therapeutic, like carrying home with you, wherever you go.

You wake up, and only the view changes. The people around you shift, the food varies, the windows frame new landscapes. But the room, the feeling, stays.

I’ve lived away from home since school, but this trip felt like returning, not to a place, but to a sense of belonging.

Hopping into our car with no plans felt effortless and wholesome. We simply woke up and drove.

The luxury of spontaneity, the orgasmic nature of traveling, comes with both financial and emotional security, to me.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. The first two stages, survival and stability, were given to me. But from the third stage onward, it’s all about what I choose to build.

Think of it like a blank canvas. Some start with finer paints, better brushes. Others have rawer strokes, more instinctive art. 

Someone who has climbed every stage on their own paints a more textured picture; more strokes, more depth, each one an experience.

Some spend a lifetime on one stage. Some move through all of them. Some are gifted a head start.

But either way, you have to paint. You have to start.

And maybe I’d love to think about this more, about love, belonging, self-actualization, and jump from one topic to another, if I weren’t gripping the seat at 140 km/h, questioning whether my next stage is just survival again.