It's been more than a year since I've returned from my beloved Amman.
"Beloved"- did I toss that word carelessly? Amman was "love at first sight", a body of newness where I landed in and decided I had fallen in love. It was a whirlwind love affair for a little longer than a month, and I had been betraying the current connection with my present location with my prolonged longing for Amman. Soft, cascading and lovely.
Longing, that's what is filling me up. Amman became synonymous to someone I grew feelings for. And I couldn't discern what I longed more.
Since Amman, something I've been thinking a lot about is the idea of being solo. The modern, survivor-of-the-fittest mental preparation for this crazy race called life almost advocated emotional independence.
But what Amman has given to me most prominently is a sense of wanderlust. Travel carries a term deeper in meaning than seeing new territory. Travel to me means immersion- losing oneself in the milk of an experience.
I have travelled in the mountains of Bangladesh, my homeland, yet learned to enjoy it in a new, deeper, more down-to-earth way. I have travelled to Istanbul this June and yet thought of my beloved Amman every step of the way.
As Pico Iyer said, the best trips, like the best love affairs, never really end.