Today is the final day.
We have slogged through airport after train station after hotel. We have admired cathedral after castle after colosseum. We have cheered, cried, and bit our nails at rugby games.
What’s the takeaway, you might ask?
The takeaway, dear reader, is - there isn’t one.
No single, all-encompassing phrase could describe the sheer volume of experiences on this trip. The good, the bad, the supposedly neutral, all valuable in the mosaic of what we’ll look back on. Our eyes may be drawn to the deep, unreflecting and unrepentant bad days; they may equally be drawn to the shining crown-jewel good days. There is no one tree in this forest that is more important or special or teachable than the others, they do not represent the forest as a whole and they never will. You cannot comprehend the beauty of an art piece from a single phrase, nor can you the horror of a thriller novel.
Maybe in one hundred years, some enterprising english teacher will stumble upon this post and find a hidden meaning. Maybe, even further in the future, the internet will have fallen and this will have died twice already.
It doesn’t matter, because right now I desperately need to be doing something that’s not autobiographical.
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