The Next Blog Post

I took this picture on the ferry from Kadıköy to Beşiktaş, part of my journey from the airport in İstanbul to my accommodation. I was captivated by the expansive views of İstanbul's skyline against the clear blue sky, mirroring the waters below. For the first time since starting my Watson, I arrived in a city without the urgency of doing.

Someone recently asked me when my next blog post will be, hence the title of this post. As you can see, I've put a lot of thought into it. (Kidding, but only a little!)

It's been 45 days since I last wrote here. A post is overdue. I hope nobody was refreshing my blog every day hoping for updates—though that’s the kind of blog follower I am, curious and always wanting to know what's going on.

Where have I been?

I wrapped up an amazing 8 weeks in Japan at the end of May. Then, I hopped over to Manila for a few days (since I could stay in the Philippines for up to seven days without needing a visa). After that, I squeezed in a week in eastern Sicily before heading to a food conference in Perugia in mid-June. And I just arrived in Istanbul two days ago.

I've had tons of reflections about my experiences, but perfectionist tendencies and the nearly constant change of environment have been keeping me from updating here. Writing (or, having written) is something I enjoy, and I definitely want to share more about my travels—the vegan foods I’ve tried and learned to make, the questions that have arisen, and the wonderful people and communities that have warmed my heart. I hope to write more about those soon. For now, here are some reflections like last time.

What I thought would be the easiest part of the Watson—doing it alone—turned out to be much harder. As someone who quickly gets drained when being around others (I tend to feel either responsible for others or guilty for not being responsible for others), I thought being alone on this trip would be the best part of it. Sure, I appreciate the flexibility it allows. I meet people along the way, and I can call friends and family if I want. But there's a lack of continuity in the connections I make while traveling, because most people I’ve talked to, I only saw once or twice. I am often the sole witness to my experiences and emotions. Journaling and walking help, but sometimes I just want an ally with whom to witness and share these moments. Because I have difficulty trusting my own reality (hello, hypervigilance in the form of self-doubt), questions like “How do I make sense of my situation? How do I know I’m processing things properly?” seem easier with external witness and validation, which can be quite useful in high-stakes situations but aren't always necessary. There’s definitely room for growth here.
While Watsoning offers ample opportunities to grow up, I’m also learning to care for my inner child. This realization came with a few tears. The story may not make much sense, since I'm not providing much context, but I'll share it anyway: In Yokohama I visited the Cup Noodle Museum, which has a theater room screening an animated short film about Momofuku Ando, the inventor of instant ramen. The museum attracts many children, and in the front of the film room, there were rows of colorful seats for kids. When I entered the room, the taller seats in the back were already occupied, so I sat in the third row next to a group of toddlers. Before the film, a hostess introduced it with a gentle cheer in her tone. As I took in her voice and observed the attentiveness on the kids’ faces, my eyes suddenly became watery. Before the hostess finished speaking, tears were dropping down my face. I was shocked! But it also made so much sense to me: sitting among children and being addressed like one brought me back to childhood. The adult in me was touched by the gentleness and joy around me because I knew my inner child longed to be cared for and entertained. A few weeks later, I had a similar experience at the Food Wanderer museum in Manila. Having shed tears of sadness, grief, awe, and gratitude, I can attest to the power of crying that dissolves fear, shame, and self-abandonment. I’m learning to grow up so that I can parent my inner child, allowing her to have fun and follow her curiosity, even though it often feels scary.
What do I do when time is up, but I don’t feel like leaving? I learn to move on, again and again. This is hard. The thrill of being in a new place helps, as does the passing of time. In my previous post, I mentioned wanting to spend more time in each place I visit. I couldn’t do that since my itinerary in the last few weeks had already been fixed, but I’ve rented a room in Istanbul for the next month. I’m relieved to have a chance to rest and immerse myself here. And to eat lots of fresh apricots.