I’m at Piccadilly Line heading west with my headphones on. Multitasking between my thoughts and the art of ‘People Watching.’ Around Knightsbridge, a traveler sits in front of me with his huge blue backpack. He seemed to get settled in the tube by the way he put his stuff down, took out his headphones and a fat book. It was obvious he was heading to Heathrow as this line ends there and that was when my curiosity kicked in, where was this guy heading? With three stops left for me to get out of the tube I couldn't resist but to ask, "Where are you going?" He seemed to be expecting my question, probably by my constant stares trying to guess where he would be flying to. He quickly removed his headphones and leaned in waiting for me to repeat what I had said to him.
His name was Miles and he was heading west across the Atlantic to the States for a few months backpacking. I had all my questions lined up for him and one by one I went. I pointed out his claddagh ring, the old traditional Irish ring representing love, friendship and loyalty. He stated it was his grandfathers' and I said I had one of my own. With my stop coming soon I felt time was running out and my list of questions kept on growing more and more. Miles seemed like a fictional character coming out from his book in his hands, if only I had time to read through the chapters. The tube was decreasing its speed and I could read through the window across him the signs that read 'Hammersmith’; my stop had arrived sooner than I wanted. While he was finishing answering one of my many questions, I slowly got up. Trying not to be rude I told Miles, "This is me". I wished him the best in his travels hiking up the northeast of the country. With no time to exchange more words I slowly stepped out of the tube, smiled at him briefly and headed home.
I wished for the first time I could live a few stops farther or if only I could have talked sooner. It's moments like these that are never enough; even when time seems to stop it always tends to speed up towards the end. Walking home and looking down at my feet going step by step I was lost thinking of Miles because I knew what he felt. I wanted him to share it with me even if it would be for a few stops-time. I have felt it a thousand times for a thousand different reasons, it's that indescribable feeling you get while beginning a journey. I continued to ask myself questions, How long had he planned this trip for?, How long had he spent his days daydreaming about it?, How fast did time go by for him when he finally found himself heading to the airport to catch the flight? This feeling of excitement for the upcoming times is like a drug; so addictive, you become obsessed, it accelerates the speed of the heartbeat and the sound of ones breath. It's the longing for travel, the impromptu conversations with strangers like those on a Sunday night that keep me traveling and keep me curious, impulsively asking, "Where are you going?"
