Tonight we are lost and camped by a beach where he is doing his assignment and I’m writing. That’s what I do, that’s what I wish I could always do. Write and write and write. Stories, poems, letters and heartfelt blogs. I wish I could type money out the same way.
One of my first ambitions was to be a writer but I wrote it off because I knew who I was. I could not put enough thought together to see a story through. I have so many unfinished ideas and scrapped plots. I never knew how to end them. But with age comes experience, and with experience comes skill. I have learnt to plan, to go from point A to Z. Laboriously, of course, because nothing worthy ever comes easy.
Of course, getting publish will not be some small feat either. And maybe that’s why I’ve never pursued it. I know that’s why he pushes me to go into journalism instead. He calls my writing a talent. It is far more validation than I’ve ever received from him.
Who would have known that something as stressful as a roadtrip will bring us closer together? I had expected fights at every turn (literally) about my poor navigational skills and exasperation when things don’t go according to plan. But it has shown me how much teamwork and patience we have, enduring every hiccup and devising new solutions together. And that is both exciting and comforting to me, knowing that we are able to work hand in hand without driving the other mad.
When morning comes, we’ll skip down to the beach and enjoy the clear waters, the peace, the beauty.
Then we will say a silent goodbye before hitting the roads once more.
I have always loved roadtrips but now I think I’m obsessed with them. I want to move away, buy a van and make it a home.