Packing for a trip is murder and here’s why:
- But, I’m a terrible packer.
- I have to run a bunch of errands to go get the stuff I need.
- Trying to pack with someone else is very much stressful.
- I have to make lists of things I want and need to take with me, otherwise I’ll forget.
- Somehow I always manage to forget something.
- Getting everything in order and laid out is one thing, but organizing it into a small-ish bag is another.
- It takes a lot of time and patience.
- Just when I have everything packed and weighed, somehow my bag always ends up being overweight.
- But if it’s under… then score!
- When it’s over though, it’s like taking a load off my shoulders.
- Happy travels to me!
Something I miss
I have all the feels about his particular post.
Three years ago (2015) I spent most of my summer in Lebanon visiting family and friends. It still makes me smile when I mention my visit to anyone. I consider it to be the trip of a life time and I can’t wait to go back.
One of my fondest memories from my visit is the time when my cousins and I drove across the country to walk through the Cedars of Lebanon.
As I close my eyes, I can feel the cool, crisp air. The memory of climbing over large rocks and tree roots as I walk down the winding path, brings me joy. The patches of sun beating down on my shoulders and the warmth it brings my body is exhilarating. I can reach out and touch the leaves between my fingers; their texture is soft yet rough. I am at ease with the people I am with.
Family and friends.
The late nights sharing drinks and anecdotes.
The hot days of Beirut.
The family lunches and dinners.
Being called ‘my cousin from Canada’.
Hiking in the mountains.
Swimming in the ocean.
Driving down winding roads to new adventures.
Being teased about my Arabic pronunciation.
Teasing them about their English.
Playing bubble soccer.
Sitting on the beach.
The promises made and kept.
Bar hoping and day drinking.
Dancing in the car.
The shenanigans, pranks, and silly stunts.
The way my aunt and mom used to dance when they were happy.
My uncle’s dad jokes.
‘Kiss me again’ as a recurring curse.
… so, so much more.
But mostly, I miss the experience, and the cherished the memories.