but to what are they connected?

when i left ... i thought i was running away. running away from uncertainty and confusion but most of all running away from myself. i thought i might become someone else in time, grafted on to something better and stronger. and then i saw that running away was a running towards. an effort to catch up with my fleet-footed self, living another life in a different way. but what good are destinations without journeys? i did not wander into this quiet village following a trail of norms and conventions and easy acceptance. truer was the opposite. for better or for worse, without quite knowing what next would come, it was one of countenancing people's thoughtless doubts, defying their flippant assumptions, defacing and obliterating their timorous condescensions. it was one of proving myself and showing them wrong. i do not know what other villages there are, but i keep the faith what has, will still; that hopefully there would arrive a hamlet, where the coin is not money but emotion, where i shall relieve my every and all, and live with just ink on my hands and sunlight at my feet. there are people who tell me that i am cut off but to what are they connected?
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