From The Road
Letters To
The Horizon
Not travel logs. A collection of places, thoughts and fragments gathered while walking toward somewhere that keeps moving.
The Shadow in the Twilight
I questioned my own shadow in the twilight, "Who am I?" The silence answered: You are a garment woven for the world's gaze, a mirror reflecting the faces of those who look upon you. The soul has its seasons, as the earth knows its time of abundance as well as its hours of thirst. A man am I, that is the fullness of my knowing. I bask in golden memories as though they were the sun, and as the great winter demands for others, I shiver as my spirit snows. Lest you admonish the frost within your own chest, the lion rests beneath the ice, and if not for roots stretching towards the unknown, come spring no branch would have fruit to bear. How often I linger in the sanctuaries of my bed, wishing the morning would pass over. Yet the world calls, I must risk to put on the mask of my labor. Looking into the mirror lamenting the weight of the disguise. Forgetting we were once small, with eyes wise and unclouded, looking upon the labyrinth of existence with wonder. A time before the dust of the marketplace replaced our vision. For life is a maze without walls, and its tragedies can no longer surprise the watchful heart. Yet, remember the dawn of your creation. When the Divine lifted you and whispered into the chambers of your soul: I believe in thee. In that single breath, you were given the clearance to rise. Not to accumulate the passing treasure of mortals, but to find a spirit of absolute ease. A peace so deep that it remains undisturbed as the mountains split and the skies roar. You yearn for the quiet haven, yet look upon the earth and see a magnificent, terrible battleground. See that life is a loom where the beast and the saint are woven from the same thread. We conquer with the mind, dominate by the arm, and offer ourselves as sacrifice or demand the sacrifice of another. Knowing not that he who slays is brother to the slain, and the conqueror submits to the same dust as the conquered. As the night deepens, the stars demand stillness. Let the world call your name; you must rest, sleep. For the morrow awaits you, unknown to you your path is decided. Rise, your destiny anticipates your arrival.
Life Before the Walk
The morning I decided to live, I had done nothing to deserve it. I had gone to sleep the night before having made my peace. I woke up confused. Looked at the bottle. Natural. I have always found that funny: the universe declining my resignation on a technicality. In the silence of that morning, I made a deal with myself. If I have one life and I was willing to throw it away, then I owe it something. I owe it a real attempt. That was the first decision. Everything since has been a consequence of it. I was 125 kilograms, directionless, and so deep in my own fog I could barely think. I left Manchester for university in Swansea just to escape. For the first time, I was genuinely alone. Everything fell to me: money, food, survival. Mine to figure out or fail at. The weight of it caught me on an ordinary Tuesday. Walking into a lecture, something rose up I couldn't name and couldn't stop. I turned around, took the bus home, held myself together until I was through the door, then cried into my pillow until I slept. I woke up the next morning and did the only thing available: picked up the pieces. Got a move on. Over the years that followed, I tried to build an armor from the outside in. I became obsessed with optimization. I hunted down mentors in books, buried myself in complex code, and fought the iron until my physical frame changed. I chased the tokens of success because I thought they would protect me from that room in Swansea. I got the computer science degree, the visible markers of discipline, and finally, an offer from one of the largest financial institutions in the world. I thought I had won. The apartment in Manchester city centre was everything I had worked for, and it felt like absolutely nothing. Full fridge, any gym, the title, the salary. And yet I was miserably numb with no explanation. My friends had scattered. The people around me knew who I had been, but I had stopped being that person and hadn't told them. I stopped caring about the corporate machine. Boxing, books, internal survival. Those were the only things that felt real. I became intolerant of comfort in others, and they became intolerant of me. My work relationships fell first. My output fell next. Before I could leave on my own terms, I was handed a redundancy letter. It wasn't the leaving that broke me. It was that it wasn't mine to decide. I spent the following year throwing ideas at the wall, watching nothing stick. Another breakup added to the list of unprocessed. I was stuck in my room, looking at plans I had written twelve months before that hadn't moved an inch. I thought: if it’s in my head, it’s there for a reason. And if anyone is going to save me, it has to be me. I sold what I owned, gathered what money I could, and headed for the door. The last book I finished before leaving was Broken Wings by Kahlil Gibran. I wondered about my own, whether I had let them be clipped, or whether walking out that door was the only way to find out if I could still fly. Today I write from Istanbul. 220 days on the asphalt. Broke in my pocket, rich in mind and heart. I have met more people from more places than most will in a lifetime. I have felt my life in jeopardy often enough that the superficial noise has finally burned away. Something has clarified: I have gone from the person who didn't want to live to the person who wants nothing more than to. Will I make it to Kenya? I couldn't tell you. Do I have to? No. Kenya is just a waypoint, somewhere to walk toward while I work out the rest of this existence. The road is waiting. Türkiye is waiting, forty-five degree summers await me. I know my way. And that's all that keeps one foot following the other. I have intentionally backdated this further than it would be, I do not want this to be the first piece read. A reader must find this. Not stumble upon it.
The Flower
I’m listening to Shiloh, I’m whole, I’m in love, I think of her in my prayers, I had no say in my ardor for her. As though her name was inscribed unto each chamber of my heart. Like a flower in a garden, the garden never asked for it. Still this flower I shall not pluck as it brings beauty to a garden that was otherwise plain.
The proof of concept
Aha, I'm 27. I'm on a train, on a small journey. I woke today, Submitted myself before the lord and began to think of how I should spend this day. I yearned for connection, Not to a body, To my own being. Thus a ticket was bought and travel began, To a land where the earth meets a body of water. One where the air carries the scent of the earth. I sit aboard this travelling box, accompanied by many others, carrying with them their own wants, stories, and personal legends. The same true is when I take steps towards my personal legend, In my case it is stepping away from that which I have permitted to shackle me, The noise of the city, The lack of nature, The lack of harmony, Step outside and I feel as though a prisoner has been released, Not concerned with how long my freedom lasts, Knowing only to cherish the time ahead, and to return with a greater energy, A recalibrated mind, and a vision for a future unencumbered by shackles.
The Dickens Chain
"Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day" Dickens : Great expectations I've been pretty stoic about life but for one, put the one to the side. I look at it all, the pain and fear of everyday that could have been different... I am where i am supposed to be. My mind has learnt to become calm... Like with all letting go of expectation, hope and happiness as well as their negative counter parts allows me to be present in the moment of what is. I spent forever diagnosing my mind looking for a cure, an answer and always i feel as though i come to the same conclusion. The answer is already within. I am exactly who i was supposed to be... My soul purpose is to live in a way congruent with my being, in trusting that my being is of good character, a laboring soul, a virtuous heart, a kind nature. There is nothing to gain from further prognosis, by just living as who i am. That will be enough... Out of love for myself. Life has become so simple ever since.
The recurring whisper
I think about my personal legend… a lot. What is the reoccurring whisper I hear in my heart, It says, Take the risk, see the world, You’ll figure the rest out, Take the leap, Take the step. So I ponder. Is what I’m working on significant to my soul, Or is it significant to me in relation to the effect it has on others, Could it come with me and be apart of my journey, Growing as I do, Or is it what I latch onto to excuse myself from the risk I am afraid of, What do I fear? These are the real questions, An old soul I already am, Can I get much older, What do I get if I wait much longer, Am I waiting for something? Ideal circumstance? Is this an act of cowardice? Or is cowardice stepping away from the commitment I have already made, One thing is for sure, No matter what happens the next step is to leave. It’s to pack a bag and go, We’ve been putting our body through training for a reason, Every action has a purpose and there is no value to strength unused, Other than one, Security, How foolish of me to believe security exists. I shall die like all before me, How they built their walls, Erected their shrines, And preached their greatness, All to return to the earth from which they came, Now if there name is mentioned it does no more than whittle in the wind, Until that too is forgotten. Security is folly. Do not look for it, You will win and you will lose as long as you live, And if you choose the life of security, Know you are the looser because just like the money you chase your life faces inflation year on year and the time spent is what is decreasing. Yet the value of what remains increases ONLY in It’s value to you.
Putting the timeline to rest
Bear with me, the aim of this is not to fill the timeline with yet another ego trip. Instead, the aim is to make an honest reflection. From a young age, I was the kid who it all just came to. School wasn’t a challenge until the time came when I sat my high school exams, realized I hadn’t paid attention, and next thing you know, I was looking at grades that I couldn't fathom. At the time, what felt like the worst thing in the world would later reveal itself to be a gift. The reality had dawned on me: hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard. When you understand your ability to be exceptional, yet you are the very reason that, by all measurable metrics, you are not—I know I am not alone in this feeling. So what does the worn-down genius do? He looks at life as a puzzle. He tries to process it all, assigning quantitative metrics to as many variables as possible in an attempt to synthesize the perfect plan to put life back on track. Forbes 30u30. This has been in my heart for as many years as I can recall knowing about it. I’m 26, and looking in the mirror, I must say it is unlikely. Statistically speaking, it is an improbable feat. A defeat I surely must accept long before its solidification. Who is to blame? None more than myself. To linger on this blame, however, is of no use. These days, I reflect on my mistakes. Free from melancholy, I approach them as a student. And the more spectacular the failure, the better. What may seem a paradox is my classroom. Assuming my life is not cut short, I have this very lifetime I have lived to be done at least twice more. So the question I ask myself is: how will I spend it? A specific answer is something I find very difficult to offer. So instead, I set rules for what not to do. And at the top of this list is to live for the approval, recognition, and praise of others. It is to provide value. To dominate in my own domain of intellectual curiosity. To be a student of life as long as it goes. When there is a dream, do not let others shake it. Grip onto that dream like your life depends on it. As Mufasa told Simba: Remember who you are. In the end, it won't matter if I was a genius or if I was recognized. What will matter is if I tried to be who I envisioned myself as. Did I strive, or did I settle? As J. Cole once said: "Only thing worse than death is a regret-filled coffin." So try before you die, or always wonder what if.
The shield from chaos
I look at my hands and I don't just see my own future. I see the safety of my blood. If I am to work myself to the bone, it’s because I refuse to let the people I love look at the world with fear. I will be the wall between them and the chaos
A Temporary Stay
God or Allah is the name, and peace it shall be. But struggling and fighting will not bring you ease. Do what you can, yet move with the sands, for they are shifting, and you belong to no land. You are a spirit, and your spirit can travel; don't ever take a permanent home, for your home cannot be built of gravel. You are a visitor, this is a temporary stay. Don't even care about what is muttered when they mention your name. Money is the illusion, such a predatory beast. It's how we hunt in this world, confused into thinking it’s what we need— because in a world without currency, they tell us we can't eat. You forget how you got here, how God granted you ease. In a town of skyscrapers, you can't grow berries, and you can't see what He gave.
The Escape Hatch
You must leave this city, it is not good for you this i know. To where I am not sure, will you walk the earth with every passing day I think less. Would this be a good use of your time and resources. Well you are starting from 0 you can always do this later but it will allow you to get some perspective and focus on not only what is important, but what opportunities you have. Fix up focus figure it out.