Weekly Pink Bubbles
June 21st.
Armed with a thick travel guide, I've finally embarked on my journey around the world.
The light from the window leaves me feeling a bit dazed. Every time I pull down the tray table, I instinctively want to open my laptop to handle work emails, but then suddenly remember the real purpose of this trip.
The airplane meal tasted better than expected, especially the ham salad.
The sunlight outside is lovely too. Through the clouds, you can see the vast land stretching below.
What is that place? Could it be the ancient city of Sapakapak? The winding ridges, and those walls like a checkerboard. She remembered her mother saying when she was little that Sapakapak could be built in such a place because the interlocking fault lines of rock formed natural channels and drainage systems...
Not sure why I still remember these things.
October 30th.
During my stay in the western lands, I encountered many interesting people and events.
Among them was a cowboy named John, who always wore a wide-brimmed hat and changed his printed neckerchief to a different pattern every day.
I once asked him curiously, if they're called denim cowboys, why are they also known as heroes on horseback? After all, that sounds a bit contradictory.
John got unexpectedly excited, waving his coffee cup around. "Hey! Listen, friend—cowboys are named after herding cattle, not what we ride! Even if I flew a plane to round up cows, I'd still be a cowboy!"
Hmm... alright then.
John's actually a lovely friend, if only he hadn't accidentally spilled coffee on my shirt.
I was planning to leave today as scheduled, but John told me there would be a Grimkin Night celebration tomorrow evening, and I'd definitely regret it if I didn't stay to experience it. I pointed at the bearded uncle performing puppet shows and magic tricks by the roadside, asking if that was the kind of event. He burst out laughing, saying those were for the kids.
"Haven't you seen enough of those childish tricks when you were little?"
Haha, I actually never saw it when I was little. Back where I'm from, the whole "Grimkin Night" thing only became popular in recent years.
Still, I decided to stay. Honestly, compared to the spectacular masquerade Ball John kept talking about, the special snacks—like witch finger cookies and Grimkin Pumpkin Pie—were way more tempting.
The problem now is that the travel journal pages I organized in advance got all mixed up, and fixing them is giving me a headache.
But surprisingly, this feeling... doesn't seem so bad.
December 4th.
This time I came to the Caucasus Mountains, located in the northwest of the New World.
To climb this mountain peak, I prepared crampons, ice axes, a cold-weather helmet, and even an outdoor survival kit according to the travel guide—everything seemed foolproof. But before I could immerse myself in the joy of conquering nature on foot, a sudden heavy snowstorm disrupted all my plans. The local safety coordinators arranged for us to take snowmobiles, then switch to cable cars, and return to the village at the foot of the mountain to rest. Of course, that was when I first arrived here.
And today, after nearly a week of trekking, I finally completed the Caucasus Mountain traverse and accomplished my personal challenge.
Standing above the snow line, gazing at the vast white snow and mist before me, breathing in the crisp air, I felt how small I was. The vast wilderness covered in snow stretched endlessly, with tiny houses buried within, marked only by scattered points of light.
I couldn't help but reach out to touch those uniquely shaped yet incredibly hard stones, thinking they must have witnessed countless climbers like me, from the distant Solar Era, or even earlier, bearing witness to everything on this planet.
I picked up a stone on my way back. The rough black surface had been scraped away, revealing a silvery-white texture underneath. Is it iron ore, or mica? I'm not sure, but I think I'm starting to understand what those rock prints my mother brought back after each geological survey meant to her.
"I brought this stone back from my travels. It doesn't speak, feels dull, and gradually becomes smooth. Within its body lies the silence of all worlds."
Only when I wrote down this line from memory did I realize it was from Pablo's poetry, the book Father recited most often.
The world I once tried to avoid has long been deeply rooted in my memory, grabbing hold of me at every unexpected moment. Can’t we even empathize with our past selves? Oh no, I don’t think that’s it—it’s just that we, and this world, are constantly growing and changing.
Well, this is a travel journal, so I seem to have gone a bit off-topic.
Of course, not everything on the journey was wonderful. For instance, while hiking in the afternoon, I saw someone bring a firework longer than a flying broomstick just to take so-called artistic photos. Fortunately, before they could light it, other angry hikers stopped them.
Phew, what a relief.
March 9th.
This travel destination is Waset, the legendary "City of Scepters" nestled in the golden desert.
Legend has it that during the Solar Era, this place was once the heartland of a mighty dynasty. But a war over power reduced everything to dust, leaving behind only the massive ruins of palaces and temples.
Walking along the grand avenue, massive columns on both sides are covered in wall paintings. Going further in, you can see two adjacent temples and palaces, with an obelisk standing between them, engraved with prayers and carved reliefs from the dynasty's founding. It's said that at dusk, the westward sunlight spills across the stone-paved road like an oil painting.
But to experience the Hot Air Balloon, what I saw was the ancient city of Waset at sunrise. From high above, the green farmland and golden Desert had a clear boundary, the River flowed like a ribbon through the misty morning light, and the entire city was laid out below. Flying low, I could even see early-rising villagers by the shore waving at us—people living on this ancient land, ready to greet a brand new day with their hard work.
August 2nd.
I originally planned to visit Chi, but somehow, my travel route seems to be drifting further off course. Where will the next destination be? Perhaps I could break free from the plan and wander wherever my heart leads.
Um... just like the giraffe poking its head through the window beside me as I write this journal entry.
Haha, I'm currently staying at Kenya's most famous Giraffe Manor. In such pristine nature, every moment of life is pure bliss. Open the window and you'll see lush green lawns, zebras grazing peacefully, monkeys hopping around playfully, and not far off in the river, hippos taking a leisurely bath.
I heard that in a few days, we'll finally witness the long-awaited animal migration. Just thinking about it is thrilling!
November 15th.
Whale Island is a magical place—quiet and peaceful, just like the residents who live here.
As for how I ended up here... I suppose after traveling through so many bustling places over the years, I wanted to find a quiet town to stay for a while and rest before setting off again. After all, the meaning of travel has changed for me. It’s no longer about escaping, but about encountering—encountering beautiful scenery, encountering interesting people. And this place has exactly that.
July 17th.
Is today a special day? Many new residents have moved into town, said to be destined souls summoned by the Astralis.
Speaking of Astralis, when I first arrived, I heard about it from Ms. Ka Ching at the General Store. But so far, I don't think I've actually seen it even once.
But as these Blessed Ones gather, does it mean... that legendary moment is truly drawing near?
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