Humans, until today, remains the only inhabitants of earth to glorify the idea of packing a suitcase and catching a flight to the other side of the planet. It’s definitely not a need, nor it is an obligation. Yet we crave it like it’s second nature, like its deprivation will eventually lead to our despair. We got caught up in this idea that if we just head north, or any direction for that matter, things will eventually get better.
And so we did. We chase the sun, feeling its warmth in our sleepy faces at dawn. We let the crashing waves lick our toes as the ocean breeze make a mess out of our hair. We touch the fallen snow with our bare curious fingers just to see what it feels like. We breathe the foreign air, believing that somewhat somehow, everything will be fine. We feel the change in temperature, and believe that somewhat somehow, circumstances will change too.
But you’re still you, and the chemicals that make up your mind.
We don’t travel to experience the world, we like to think we do. We travel to escape our world that we live in. The same old monotonous routine, or where the grey clouds persist in the gloomy sky of our mind.
The truth is, as ugly as it is, geographical cure doesn’t cure. Things don’t get better just because you put on a hat and a pair of sunglasses, and call it a vacation. Changes don’t come your way just because you purchase a coat that you wouldn’t wear otherwise for you live in a tropical country. As unfamiliar as the environment enveloping you is, you’re still you, and the chemicals that make up your brain.
At most, geographical cure is a bandaid. It lets you forget, even just for a fleeting moment. It recharges you, letting you hold on a little longer just to ride out the storm. It buys you time, keeping you alive just long enough to find the actual cure. It makes the world collapsing around you, feels a little less likely. Geographical cure doesn’t work, it’s an illusion, and that is perfectly fine.
