The Meaning of Travel

People often define the meaning of travel in grandiose terms.

Citing the fact that the word 'Travel' originates from 'Travail' (suffering, toil), they say that true travel is about achieving growth through hardship. But honestly speaking, I am not that kind of traveler. I don’t set out to buy suffering or to gain some profound enlightenment. My travel lies somewhere between a 'Trip' and a 'Tour'—it is closer to a light deviation.

The liberation of escaping the gravity of duty and the daily grind that weighs me down all week, and simply breathing in unfamiliar air. For me, that alone is enough.

Why I Leave

So why do I leave my familiar and comfortable home to head to a strange place?

The biggest driving force that leads me to the airport is a craving for "perfect anonymity." In Seoul, I live with countless labels attached to me. Someone’s colleague, family member, friend, senior, or junior. The roles I must perform, whether I want to or not, define me and sometimes suffocate me. But the moment the plane takes off and I land in an unfamiliar city’s airport, all those labels fall away. I become strictly a person who is nothing—in other words, a 'Nobody.' The complete freedom where no one knows me, and I don’t need to be conscious of anyone else. That lightness is always addictive.

When I become such a stranger, I finally realize that I have five senses. On my familiar commute, my brain switches to "power-saving mode" to conserve energy, but it's different in a travel destination. My senses stand on edge so as not to miss this moment that won't come again. The noise of an unfamiliar language, the smell of spices, the sunlight hitting at an angle different from Seoul. The reason a day on a trip feels longer and denser than a week in daily life is precisely because of these living senses.

To fully possess these sensations, I perform my own little ritual. When I find a place I really like, I sit quietly and close my eyes. Blocking out visual information, the most powerful sense, I focus solely on sound.

When I close my eyes, I hear things I couldn't see. The friction of a tram passing in the distance, the sound of someone's heels, the intonation of an unknown language from the next table. I use those sounds as ingredients to paint the scenery in my mind.

'Where is the owner of those footsteps rushing to?' 'Is the tone of that voice from lovers, or business partners?'

After letting my imagination run wild for a while, the thrill of the moment when my imagination overlaps with reality upon opening my eyes engraves that place in my memory forever. It is an imprint far deeper than any proof left by a photograph.

After the Travel

When the trip is over and I pack my bags, a strange resolve arises along with the regret.

It is because of the numerous 'Pros' I met during my travels. To me, it is a romantic destination, but for someone else, it is a fierce battleground of life. Seeing the hotelier who never loses their smile while dealing with countless tourists, the bus driver who skillfully navigates the alleys, and the baker who silently bakes bread, I think to myself:

'Those people are real pros.'

Seeing them do their best in their positions becomes a healthy stimulation for me. I should go back and work more like a pro in my position too. I'll work hard, earn money, and come back to this wonderful place.

In the end, travel is not an escape for me, but a recharge. It makes the next labor possible, and that labor allows me to dream of the next travel.

And so, I press down the labels that defined me once again and head to work. Imagining the next destination where I will become a 'Nobody.'