Life outside of travel

Fear of Job Commitment

Previously, I wrote a bit about my history of work. Jobs I had, but never truly felt happy with. I finished the post with noting I found another place where I’d work until meeting my dearest in wonderful Malaysia where before departure I had found an apartment for a month long. Now, to get there, I had eight weeks worth of work in a town two stations away. Five days a week, I biked to the train, rode it for the quarter of an hour before casually walking the last thirty or so minutes. I blissfully did so and viewed the walk as me-time. Something needed, as I worked over fifty hours a week and the moment home my screen spoke draining words as I followed online courses and while jotting down important notes my mind whispered words of guilt exclaiming I should have pushed harder during my workout. So, that morning and early-evening walk was welcomed and kept me cool.

Work itself was at a warehouse manned by five when at full crew and I was to replace the ones rotatingly off on holiday. Why I always return to a warehouse? It feels comfortable. Perhaps peculiar coming from a guy used to leaving the bubble of comfort, but yes, it is sincere. The thought of retailing or facing customers on the daily or sitting at a desk seems unappealing and in ways daunting with all the social interactions. Being physically active is a pro for me and since mucking up stables pays inadequate and the work comes scarce, I once again returned to handling and picking orders. And I seemed to enjoy these weeks and even the long Saturday of hauling furniture on my tugger was made doable due to it only being a single day in the week. But, if I may speak complete honesty, with the excitement and passion I had said farewell to both, I believe my love was faked. Faked by an incentive of Malaysia and a beautiful Filipina calling for me. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow made the dreading climb an illusive walk in the park. Call it a mirage. Oft, I was irritated. When work was slow it took me seconds to glance at my phone for the time and pray for it to speed up and at the ending of it, I began to feel the same I feel all elsewhere. That I am finished.

I realise writing this will be the worst possible stamp on my resume, but after weeks, months, depending on the particular job and people, I simply can’t anymore. I can’t stand getting up at six to force an early meal, bike the exact same path I have for god knows how many times only to then start a day doing the exact same tasks I always do. I realised that feeling loomed above me and if I hadn’t left there it would have taken over again. The second I set the alarm, even when I accept the job or go to the interview, the clock starts. A countdown as to when I am done. Normal people work year in and year out, get promoted and build up a pension and are happy. In many ways, I am sad to admit that I am not normal. I have never seen myself in any position working under someone for more than a year and the thought alone frightens me and makes me unhappy.

But, normal is also boring. And boring, I do not do. Therefore, I pushed myself to work 50+ hours as I workout, follow online studies and fight myself a way through life’s dull moments in before I find myself abroad again. And one day, I promise myself, I will take grip of life’s ropes and take control in anything and then, just maybe, I can be truly happy without the fear of being stuck doing a 9-6 or 8-5 or anything that is not on my terms.

Don’t be scared to take the leap. Work for it, fight for it and make it happen. You deserve to be happy and if it is impossible to do so with your current way of living, change something. Don’t live a life that is a lie!

Life outside of travel

A tangible cloud

For those returning to my blog for the tales of my travelling endeavours, sit tight as this week’s post won’t be taking you away to another exotic, far-away country, but takes a wander around inside my head. Though most of the times I hardly know what I think, feel or want, here is an attempt to jot such down to perhaps get a grasp of it. Turning it into a near-tangible cloud and just maybe, I too can understand.

Coming back from the long travel, I had a job within the week as I rejoiced with my ex-coworkers. I initially started my short-term career in this warehouse of furniture upon ending my cycle about Europe and this made for an easy reconciliation. Some had left and others had come instead. Minor changes were applied to the interior. However, apart from that, all remained identical. I’ve never truly loved the job, though it is admittedly undemanding and at times even pleasant. A simple job I never felt at home with, but comfortable enough for time be. Workmates came in diverse; amiable ones, funny jesters, manipulative ego-heads, lazy sloths and plentiful dispiriting souls. Throughout the first year and these months I sought out those that gave me a bit of energy and made the time pass. But, I also learned to cope with the negativity spreading through the air. In all fairness, most made for great conversationalists thus it wasn’t that hard.

For a while, I did well and bore through time. Moments I even believed to be enjoying it. But, a company once pushing for planned bankruptcy as they ordered supply without intending to pay had a system fucked to begin with. Men were forced to load objects much heavier than you and I can dream of lifting on steaming summers yet the same speed as of months before during the cool spring is expected. Same loads chauffeurs will have to single-handedly manoeuvre out during their long, stressful hours. Unfair expectations and demanding bosses were the mere tip of the iceberg causing the titanic that is the personnel to sink into a sea of bitter anger and frustration. Daily I was met with complaints and irritation by the ones claiming over a year ago they’d take their leave. All of it was getting me exasperated and exhausted over a job already lacking excitement and joy for me. Then, hours became insignificant changing erratically per week which left me with measly paychecks. So, after a face-to-face with a new supervisor giving me his honest answer I gave notice to be back on the hunt for jobs.

With shoulders prompted high, I was filled with enthusiasm as the near same day of the search I had been invited to an interview for a production position. This company had two branches both situated near my house. One was fun with smells pleasing the senses even when cycling passed the building on my way to grandma and leaving a longing sensation for baked delicacies. Then as its nemesis, the villain of the town, came the second building creating seasoning for meats and fishes. An easy guess which one I got. Heavy bags of onion powder, garlic powder, cayenne powder and worse got cut open in the dozens to fill massive silos but simultaneously powder poured out and formed clouds rich of scent covering me from tip to toe and that what was bare clutched onto the stench. After my first working day I sat at a restaurant with my family and Kath as it was her final week and there was a reeking aroma of garlic and onions with fierce strength crawling from under my finger nails despite all the scrubbing and washing done during my shower.

Besides the work being hard and stinking, a downside acceptable to a degree, it hardly felt safe for long term. Pepper, both the hot ones and the table accessory, caused throats to itch and relentlessly cough, eyes to burn and at all times my nose was stuffed the way a turkey gets end of the year. Then there was a hunchback taking on easier tasks as his back was injured, most likely induced due to heavy bags being lifted on the daily with a constant movement requiring a swift rotation of the upper body. If unhealthy working habitats hadn’t been enough to scare me, the villain’s helpers did. There was no click, not even in the slightest. I couldn’t befriend these men if my life depended on it.

A job falling through within the same days my lover flew back to the Philippines and I was supposed to remain calm? I lost it. I returned home, drenched in smells and misery before crawling into an empty bed. That oncoming Tuesday, as I sat at lunch, I sent her pleading and convincing messages that expressed the inability to wait for her. That day, we chose and settled on Malaysia for a month-long home together and all I had to do was stick it out for roughly two months.

Faith be on my side when the cycle home included a call from an employment agency a town away offering a job for, you guessed it, two more months. A job far more superior in every aspect and none the downside – excluding the travel by train. Eight more weeks I would continue, as additional a 12-hour Saturday at the job of erratic hours giving enough break from the dismal folks to have the long day filled with catching up and generally good times. It had been a perfect roll on life’s dices with Malaysia as incentive. That gloomy morning had ended in an evening of joyful tears and peace at heart.

This is a quick introduction of my working history to up next bring you into my mind.

Australia (2018) Personal Favourites

Working in one of the greatest cities

There was an annoying tune coming from my phone, as it did every morning, announcing the start of my day. It hadn’t dawned yet, but that was winter. Which was a season that packed quite some chill for a country known for its heat. Some of the cold had crept into the house and reluctant to unleash myself from the warm grip of the thick, snug blanket, I tended to snooze my alarms. Each time giving up a morning’s privilege. Starting off with a grand breakfast becoming a quick sandwich and banana. Then I’d have to skip the hot shower that warmed me up before embracing the cool outside. Finally, it would end in me speeding into my clothes and rushing off. Everyday it got a tad colder and it was always a struggle of wanting to be cold early on with only a sweater, or to drag around a bigger jacket all day once the Australian sun rose and brought its warmth. Because in all fairness, though this part of Australia is the coldest when it comes to winters, it was quite a doable cold. Nowhere near freezing, it was only the icy, fierce wind that stood between me and a comfortable temperature. I’ll give Melbourne that, the winds get tough and hard at times. But if I was lucky, which I never was, it would work in my favour.

Australia (2018)

A festival experience unlike others

The sun, as usual, was out and bestowed those under it with a pleasant warmth on the late afternoon. Wonderful moods were all around, people smiling and being goofy. I could hear laughter and many involved in lively conversations. Lots of drinks were being consumed, and with that, inevitably, plenty of other substances. From all over, masses had gathered in cars bearing tents, caravans and some had even managed to carry with whole furniture sets to either upgrade their camping setting or for a more comfortable view of the show that would be near the small town Meredith. Amidst the highlands was the festival of Golden Plains, and I, wearing black on black, was going to be working there. There was a bit of confusion though, as I was channelled through a different agency and I somehow ended up being the only person working alone and doing 12-hour shifts. But, it was what I preferred anyways. Because of this special ordeal, I got to enjoy the pleasures of both conversing with coworkers as well as having my own escape.

When the clock struck six, my shift began. The entirety of the evening and night, I would be scavenging for all garbage amongst the dancing crowds, as well as empty all the bins from the amphitheatre to the food stalls, the outskirts and the beginning of the camping. The thing I must applaud the organisers for, is that together with paid workers were a bunch of volunteers working half a day for a free ticket, which releases any stress from the job and quite frankly, made working a pleasure. I emptied bin after bin, whilst listening to the music and watching people glow with joy. All dressed with their own, at times strange styles, all types of people poured in as the hours passed. The outer parts viewing the stage was now a maze of comfy sofas and chairs, with unopened cans forgotten and lost. A few hours in, I bumped into a volunteer, with whom I joined the dancing cluster and together we picked up rubbish thrown on the ground. Now, here a surprising personality of these folk awaited me. People began thanking me for my service as if I just came back from fighting a war. They shook my hand and helped along. Before we knew it, a bunch of them during their dance moves cleaned up half the area for us. Once the volunteer had done her hours, she was off to join the other side.

Another benefit of being solo, was that I made my own breaks. So, whenever most of the rubbish was dealt with, I would take off my high-vis, open up a found, forgotten can and keep it company as I joined in with the festival-goers. Making friends went easily, both on and off duty. On duty, I eventually got to waste away some hours with two guys who oversaw most of the ground by car, as well as handled diverse smaller tasks. From cleaning up a faeces massacre that had occurred in a shower to assisting a highly buzzed lady from a cold ditch to a warm tent, they managed it. This was on the second day, when they pitied my long, lonesome hours and shoved me inside their jeep. For the better half, we simply drove around searching for anything out of the ordinary. Apart from the mentioned wasted woman, there was little to do.

It was three days of hard work as I cleaned, cleared and partially broke down, and with that, one of the better jobs of my working history. And despite having worked basically the entirety of the festival, with fun coworkers, a job not too stressful nor hard and people on ground helping, I had felt I experienced it all the same except with an impressive pay. My hat goes off to the organisers, as they did, in my opinion a terrific job.

Cycling and Hitchhiking (2016) EU

A New Upcoming Travel & Old Pictures

Once I returned home, surprising my family with a sudden knock on the door – followed by an hour waiting as no one was home – things quickly got back to the routineus life that had pushed me to travel in the first place. A few breaths and my feet were scurrying from pole to pole, resumes in my hand. I switched jobs faster than tides until my employment agency placed me into the transporting business. Seven months working in a warehouse amidst all kinds of coworkers.

During these months, I had the opportunity to ponder over what the story of the following chapter of my life would be. Many suggested study. Some seemed to know what was best for me, cocksure what I should do. Too many foolishly thought I would actually cage myself within the walls of a study. A moment’s thought, so did I. However, for me, depressions seeps from these walls. As long as I have no motivation to enter such building, bearing the answers to my life passions, it will be a place to drain my happiness. The friends that knew me best, pushed me to follow my heart. Soon after, I was convinced.

Thus, the making of a new travel plan arrived. With heavy heart, my family smiled upon me, as their dreams of me in college shattered to the ground. As expected, they had my back and with every step I took, they were there offering a hand. Their support allowed me to work hard and save my money tight as if a new economy crash was upcoming. To keep my mind out of the gutter that is the boring life in the Netherlands, I spend my time focusing on the upcoming trip and writing about the past one. Even during work, my mind was on the beaches, in the jungles and so on. This worked for some time…

Until the well of motivation had gone dry and my taste for the water faded. Feeling caged in my world of writing, I had to bring a pause to my stories. Unhappy with the words on my screen, feeling forced with every post, I no longer wallowed in the bath of words I used to love. Days were slow and boring, yet my mind was at all times a roaring lion, a machine gone to overdrive, a tornado and volcano burst at the same time. Thoughts, worries, and fears flew in thousands. They hung heavy in my head, bringing exhaustion. Workdays got longer and slower. The same faces, the same boring conversations, the same dumb questions over and over. Days off, I often felt bored. I wanted to go out and live.

But for once, I felt afraid of travelling. I had announced to make the longest trip I ever would. That wasn’t what brought shrivels down my spine however. What shakes my mind, is the fear of being unable to find a path for my life. A direction. Of failing myself. Despite that constant dread chaining me down, I prepared my wings for the next flight. Taking a leap from the nest and hoping my wings would carry me. To find my purpose. Quitting my job to be with my family was a begin. Buying my ticket a second. It took a while before that happened, as I didn’t want to say goodbye. I didn’t want to fly, afraid of falling. Nonetheless, I did. Giving up on studying, I hope I find what I desire out there.

Now, about my posts. Fresh, I shall begin, hopefully finding my spot in the world of writing. But not before I give you a nip of the last months in Europe (+ a short family trip in Sweden).


Some poorly shot pictures of the beautiful town that is Odessa, Ukraine. 

Then, sweltering in a train, I made my way to Chisinau, the capital of beautiful Moldova. Here a wonderful family took me in and showed me around for a few days. Two young, but incredible smart and talented children. 


After giving me more than I could take, I was shown the ancient Orheiul Vechi, a lovely village on the side of a hill. Thereafter, I moved on to Romania. 



My travel through Romania was rapid, however grand. Turning into a smelly swamp at 40 degrees, I received long rides in a beetle, a bus and a worker on duty, offered food with some gin by dry-humoured workers in a warehouse, slept in a warm guesthouse bed in Bran for free, braved the vampires and hitchhiked together with a first-timer. In this week of Romania exploration, I have not a single bad word to say.

I soon arrived in Austria, heading to my work-away location. A small village, filled with drama. Taking care of camels and horses was my job. In exchange, accommodation, meals and riding lessons were provided. A village of all kinds. Four weeks of getting to know them all through long conversations. Besides the village, I visited the town Melk nearby, beautiful Vienna, and some farms.

Then time had come to head home. Without letting my family know, I hitchhiked in three days across Austria and Germany. Astonishingly fast I received rides of many nice people all the way up to final city.

Up next follow a few pictures I took when in Sweden for a family trip (Stepmother’s side). 

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For now, I am doing well. I have all under control and I feel ready to embark on my new adventure. The 11th of August, my trip will begin. I feel ready. I will live, smile, write and be happy. Pictures will come. If you want to stay posted, you may follow me on Instagram and/or Facebook.