A story? No, just an incident

I pause, after being exposed to somewhat of an exhilarating experience, that one as say is totally away from what I've been into all of my life. One could say that it's no big deal that someone from a third world country has traveled and seen what the real civilized world is all about, but - as I have expected - for me it is a little different. Maybe because I tend to observe too much, absorb too much, and try to come up with conclusions and a section where I can put "What I've learned" from this, that or whatever experience I've been through. Well, it is widely known that traveling around the globe makes you different, one way or the other. Adds to you a lot, and submerges other parts of you underneath. I'm not gonna talk about what I've learned nor banter about the various things I've seen through my very brief journey that could not be compared to other people's experiences on traveling, because generally there are people who travel all the ...

That is unlikely to occur in anyone else's life. Why so my dreams always provide me with an experience that I didn't have in real life, which makes me want to take this same experience in real life, have passion for it, so that everything else beside it seem tasteless. Is it because of a personality problem? I'm a delusional imaginative fella that is not eligible to live in real life? Or what? There is not other alternative explanation you see? Which makes me think of absolutely dumping the idea of remembering my dreams or even mentioning them to myself. Seems that I will have to drop a huge load off of myself in favor of being who my mind wants me to be, all in favor of a maintaining as stronghold. Indeed I am changing, and indeed my words are decreasing in number, and intensity, for the sake of actions that serve me, and for the sake of changes that mark the lineage of my life. The look in my eyes has definitely changed, and that is enough of a change. Quite enough.