I am not sure where I was all these years. But I think I’ve been here all along. I skimmed through old pictures on my computer today. All nine years worth. The trip to Barcelona. The weight gain – the heaviest I’ve ever been. The weight loss – the skinniest I’ve ever been in my post teenage years – the saddest I’ve ever been. But what jumped out the most, was the happy face that shined through the cracks. The happy moments. The moments of joy, wonder, excitement, adventure, life. (The happy face that was not happy underneath – the selfies I took to seem happier to myself and to others. They were brief moments. Seconds to pose for a picture.) And in this browsing, I slightly lose myself to the picture. Ah yes, I could tell I was uncomfortable here, a bit overweight, with a developing skin problem, but I look happy and healthy and prettier than I remember feeling in that moment. What was I trying to prove right then? To whom? Why? I was a perfect version of me. I am not sure what exactly happens in the mind, or in the picture, or in the vision of the eye beholding the picture. But something does. Barcelona, Paris, California, Maastricht, Atlanta, Washingon D.C, Florence, Germany, Athens, Paris again, Canary Islands. Isn’t that exciting? Who wouldn’t be excited! Croatia, Rome…… each album I skim through I remember what I felt. I am not sure why life unraveled the way it did, I suppose there was a wiser way to go about it, I could have found other traveling partners. I didn’t. But the journeys and destinations are still something worth talking about, worth mentioning, worth photographing. In pictures, I see what I was, I see what I wanted. It is entrancing. I need more pictures. A few more trips. A photo album. Or two. Or three. More moments I can write about in another 9 years. Life is fascinating and wondrous.