Rome was grey and rainy this morning, and I figured I’d stay in and do some reading, a certain mental preparation for tomorrow’s trip. I feel as if my brain has been detached from my body lately. My legs wonder among the ruins of this ancient civilization, but my mind is deeply rooted in the present. I feel guilty for lack of emotion, for being unimpressed by the Western world. I don’t mean to sound like a spoiled child who won’t play with old toys. I just don’t want to play altogether. There is so much gruesome, unfair stuff in our time, that this game of going new places and seeking visually appealing things, to be preserved on postcard-like snapshots, posted on social networking sites, seems so out of touch.
I don’t mean to sound negative. People need to travel, by all means; traveling has a great capacity of expanding one’s worldview. I think I’m just a bit too disillusioned to enjoy the touristy things. On the other hand, I am happy to have visited a dear friend. Those are people, not places, that make life beautiful.
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I leaned out of the window and watched the students march against education reforms as I was writing this. It reminded me of taking to the streets on any more or less plausible occasion during college days, protesting government corruption, freedom of speech impediments and rigged elections… I guess I do miss the good old Europe sometimes. I miss it in a strangely cold, heartless way, however. It could be because my heart is in Africa.