Moving

It's 7 p.m., and the day almost over. The sky hangs heavy with clouds, yet I choose to walk home.

As I pass through the old city---a medieval town steeped in rich history---my mind drifts to my luggage, still half-packed and waiting for me.

Yes, I'm moving. Again. I've lost count of how many times I've moved in the past decade.

Everyone has their own philosophy about life. Some believe life is about making choices. Others think it's about giving. For me, life is a journey---quite literally. Moving from one place to another, packing and unpacking, settling in just long enough to prepare for the next move.

I suppose God has been listening and granted my wish. Not that I can complain, of course.

From city to city, island to island, country to country---here I am now, in the heart of Europe. Even on my last day here, I'm still processing how I ended up in this place. Am I just lucky? Or did God grant my wish simply because He could?

Though I wish I could stay, life moves forward. When one adventure ends, another begins. I surrender myself to the unknown, ready for whatever lies ahead.

The rain begins to fall. I have my umbrella, but I let the drops soak my face. There's something romantic about this rain, the way it falls, as if it's marking the end of a chapter.

Perhaps everything feels romantic when it's nearing an end.