I was in the Biliran province a couple of days ago and I had realized something.
I like to go to new places, to travel and see the beauty of nature. There’s a serene feeling to it. It’s like being at home. It’s like peace. If there is heaven, that is what I’d picture heaven to be. But at that peaceful thought came a sad feeling. Every time I travel to new places, whether I’m riding a car or the bus (or a motorcycle like a few days ago), I always get this hollowness. I travel and I see this beautiful sunset. I travel and I see this wondrous tree. I travel and I see this rice field and imagine a peaceful life there. I travel and I see simple houses, seemingly filled with only happiness. I travel and I try to take it all in. What is it? The joy of that moment. The temporary peace that I have nothing to worry about. The scenery. And it’s sad, really. Because I try to take them all in, to remember every single detail of that trip. To remember every single stone I saw on the road, every flower patch, every tree, every house, every creature, what it felt like, what impressions those things left in me. (And this is why I don’t usually sleep during trips.) But in the end, I can’t remember all of them and all I’m left is the feeling of nostalgia and strangely, of homesickness.
I’m a fan of the dictionary of obscure sorrows and I’m trying to find a word that describes this obscure sorrow of mine. So far I haven’t found it (if there is already one). If not, I hope I’m not the only one who feels this way, and I hope that the creator of the dictionary would create one because then it would become my favorite word.