I have been to 18 cities now, substantial enough for one to compare the beauty between them, one would say. The most popular question I have been asked: "Which was the most beautiful?" I usually end up without an answer, because beauty appreciated and thought of in hindsight feels like a betrayal, a robbery of the grandeur experienced once. I like to think of the most beautiful as the next place I am about to visit, because really, that's the way things should be. I have never understood the reality of 'living the moment' - I am one of those who reel from the sudden realization of a moment, that each second and minute and hour is real, and that it is now, and that I am happening, I exist, like when you realize that the other person in the car next to yours owns the same seconds, minutes and hours in the clock as you, but that this parallel existence is somehow separated from yours, then hey, it isn't just him when you take the 7.74 billion (just googled this) world population into account. How can so many existences occur in such distinctive parallels? Somehow this becomes okay here - time becomes understanding and fleeting, a combination that I have never achieved to comprehend. This is why I have no answer. Every moment was beautiful, not necessarily more beautiful than the previous, but I couldn't and didn't expect more; each moment was enough. This is how I have been traveling, the way I was in all the 18 cities.

And in this way I know, for sure, that my final destination will be as beautiful as the rest of the world, despite so many contraries - Home.