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Chasing Solitude: A Heartrending Symphony of Solo Travel and Lingering Melancholy
As I traverse the familiar path that connects home to the metropolitan, the bone-chilling air seeping through the narrow crack in the slightly ajar train window serves as a sobering reminder of the world outside. My usual companion: a generous dash of loneliness, and several meager digits on the frosty thermometer. A bitter two degrees.
This regular journey, often shrugged off as mundane, is an expedition. Solo travel, despite its fair share of satire, has an unspoken profundity that often goes unnoticed. There's a certain melancholy attached to it, a sense of desolation that seeps in like the cold, meandering its way into my thoughts and, inevitably, into my words. Yet, it holds an adventure of its own, filled with undulations of self-discovery, introspection and resilience. A sardonic grin washes over my face; for it mirrors a lesson learned through countless solitary train rides.
Today, however, the melancholy carries an extra weight.
Just another day, just another news piece, yet it leaves an indelible mark on your spirit. I come across an article that tears open a harsh reality about the world today. Myriad emotions entwined with indifference, disbelief, and a palpable dread taint the earlier jovial mood. A chilly shiver runs down my spine as I soak in the aftermath of a horrifying incident in far-off California. Specialized words and facts try to sanitize the bloodshed but nothing can cloak the human tragedy at its heart.
Six lives extinguished, twelve others forever marred, courtesy of a system so fragile that an individual shadowed by a history of violence slips through its cracks. A tragedy borne of apathy, and rooted in ignorance.
"Silos are the death of empathy", I scribble down in my notebook. An individual lost to the thralls of violence, a family grappling with the unfathomable guilt of hindsight, and questions with no apparent answers clutter my thoughts in the rattling solitude of the train.
The solo journey continues. The fleeting landscapes outside the frost-laced window narrate tales of vast, undulating plains, icy-laden rivers and towering mountains; and I, a mere observer, drown in the abyss of melancholy. What good are these splendid sights when the warmth of humanity is steadily receding? What worth is an adventure if it's marred by the cold shrills of despair echoing from afar?
In the solitary expanse of this train ride, the underbelly of solo travel is exposed. It's not all sunsets and beautiful landscapes. Sometimes, it's confronting the harsh reality of solitude, of helplessness, of a world that's equally beautiful and brutal. And even so, we trudge on. We keep travelling, keep discovering, keep moving - because as the train runs its course, there's a peculiar comfort in the continuity of motion, in the heartbeat of the rail tracks beneath us.
It's a disenchanting orchestra of laughter and tears, joy and sorrow, warmth and cold. Yet, the symphony continues. The melancholy dwindling to a lullaby, and as the city lights of Oslo twinkle in the distance, it whispers - the delightfulness of the journey often lies within the dejection of the ride. Such is the bitter-sweet symphony of solo travel, a heartwrenching adventure of its own.