The purpose of travelling is to return home. Away in a foreign place, the faces are unfamiliar, I don’t trust them, and I’m sure they don’t like me. All I want to do is escape. I walk around the streets, wondering what life would be like for these strangers. I go on a journey in my imagination, trying on different lives like pieces of clothing. Then I come home. The tension eases. I realise how great my life is. There’s no need to escape — everything I ever wanted is here.

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I’m a thoughtful person. I have worn it as a badge of honour. My Pa once told me you have to be a thinker to make it in this world — and think and think I did. But I’ve come to realise that constantly thinking has destroyed more of my…

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