I don’t know when travel lost its luster in my eyes. I don’t know when I decided to stay put. I didn’t think it possible. After all, when I met the word “wanderlust” when I was a teenager, I vowed enthusiastically, as most teenagers do, to always give in to it. It speaks volumes of my youth when I admit that this was probably the most intoxicating teen “lust” I ever entertained. But entertained it, I did.
I was 18 when I was permitted to travel on my own from the city to our hometown in Samar. It was a revelation. I grabbed every opportunity to spend a weekend at a college friend’s house in Moalboal. I said yes to out-of-town weddings. I stared in awe at majestic volcanoes while sprawled on a sand bar in Camiguin. I purchased the first and last pair of gloves I will likely own in Sagada. I grumbled at Manila traffic.
But the thrill and allure of travel waned. Maybe it was when I fell in love. Maybe it was when funds for tickets went to a nest for making and creating art. Maybe it was when the last trip I took was to my parents’ house and shortly after that, Yolanda happened, erasing everything that I was setting in my heart to love about their small city. Maybe it was when I saw that everyone in my Facebook feed goes somewhere at predictable frequency that I feel like I no longer have to BE anywhere else myself.
I wonder about the when without a trace of envy or longing, though. Because I know the why: I am a “staying put” type.
Once in a while, however, moments that only travel can bring seep back into my mind. Usually when there is a lull between days of writing and sewing. In small towns, you lose yourself. Their silence are living things and if you breathe deep enough, they will steal your soul. This is probably why you say that you no longer want to go back to the big city. In big cities, you hold on to who you are. Every light and sound is an intrusion so you keep your fists close around the little bits that you know yourself to be. This is my name. This is where I live. These are my things. This is my look; look, it’s different from yours. In bus rides, you wonder if your soul mate is only three seats away. While taking inventory of your bags at the terminal, you wonder who’s going away and who’s coming home. You entwine your fingers with the love of your life as you realize that you’re in a new place but home is also standing right beside you.
But I like staying put. I can brush aside memories of travel with a new sewing pattern, a stamp idea, or a book. Alas, doing so might be more difficult now now that I have this Bo’s Travel Journal.
The crafter in me is giddy at its beauty and craftsmanship. And the teenager in me who vowed to always give in to wanterlust is stirring.
I think I might just hand over the reins to her.
The Bo’s Origins Travel Journal is available at your favorite Bo’s branch for only P1000. You can buy one outright; no need to collect stamps or jump through hoops. It is a journal, not a planner. It is perfect for jotting down thoughts while waiting for your flight. It offers great stories about the places in the Philippines where Bo’s sources its coffee beans. Inside are coupons for discounts to products and services offered by homegrown companies. There is also a fun challenge that you can complete by visiting Bo’s branches all over the Philippines.