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It is never easy to find a place that transforms you. Harder is the search and the longing for the wilderness inside us. This is how my search for my pilgrimage begin. Breaking off from the monotony of today, I sought after something bigger than myself, indulging in the spices of today and hoping for a new taste tomorrow. It was late autumn when I begin my trek to the city of Dharamkot. I sat there in the hostels filled with the reclusive people of great cities, each on their own journey. The first few days were spent on the blissfulness of the nuances of a trip, but soon the routine captured me once again. The cafes, which allured me so were no longer the dream they once were. As I sat there with my page empty and mind more so, I slipped once again into an old habit of mine. All I sought was to run away from it. Run away from the adventure, the thrill, and go back once more to the grey that was my life. All was left was that one night, one night more of enduring myself and doubting how everything I once dreamed of was not what I wanted. Never had I known that the one night could very well become that strand in the history of my life, which would rewrite it. People find it easy to categorize other people. It has always been easier to quantify their impressions, as to not be afraid of the unknown. So was I. I had thought that the picturesque sunlight, gleaming through the islands of ice would light up the artistic beacon I always had hidden inside on me. But all I found inside of me was disappointment in the failure in myself and soon headed back to my hostel room, loathing myself. I guess it was destiny, or maybe it was just coincidence. I stepped out to the balcony of my room after packing, hoping till my last breath that the temptress of creativity would embrace me. I sat there, with all my efforts to not cry out in pain and scream the loss I felt in myself when I heard,” It’s okay, you can cry.” And that's when I knew that I had to talk. I must have talked for hours, a therapy I never could've paid for and never once faltered till I collapsed in the tears I never knew were in me. As I grew more closer to her in the few hours than I have ever been to anyone in the years of my life, I realized that it has always been easier to simplify people, rather than to unlock the mysteries which burrow in the complexities of the mind. I had found what could only be described as the feeling closest to love. We sat there, talking like old friends over the hours that seemed to pass us by. We sat together, bound by the disparity that wrote us together throughout the night glorifying our addiction to change and watched as our lives burned away to reveal a new being in us. Love is found easily. Companionship, not so much. And so, everytime I lay there with someone, looking at the twinkling stars above, I’ll remember that time. I’ll remember how I once sat in silence, looking over the lightning blues, staring over the hilly horizons of the mysticism in those eyes and how we sat, never speaking, never breathing basking in the glory of tomorrows. The trip ended as abruptly as the day, and all I had left was me. A new me and a me that would never care to be inspired from what I want, but from what I already know. The end was always coming. I just had the luck to find the best one yet. And as I left, I remembered. I remembered the sunny square of McLeodGanj, the walks through the monastery, and the treks through the unknown snow ridden falls of Dharmakot. And all I could remember was the hopelessness lustfully felt by me, only to be put into perspective by that one single night, which made me realize the beauty of sadness.