"Yo quiero navegar tan lejos

pero aun no encuentro el mar

recuerdame como es el viento

que hoy tan lejos parece estar"

-La Reina Morsa, "Navegar"

My fate is sealed, there is no turning back, I thought as I trudged along with my heavy bags towards the bus stop the morning of my departure. Sitting tightly on my alloted seat, though, waiting for my first flight to take off, an eerie feeling settled into my stomach–that I was not following fate but defying it; that I was going against the natural order, the predestined course of my existence; that what I was doing is horribly wrong, in capital letters sprawled across a large chalkboard. I could not help thinking that I had just set myself on a corridor that leads straight to a colossal failure.

Toronto Airport. Approaching gate 177, I start hearing Spanish. I almost clasp my hands together in gleeful relief, but settle instead for a more nonchalant stance. Nevertheless, I cannot ignore the new feeling in my chest, as if a gold ore was weighing it down.

Bienvenidos a Santiago de Chile. It is good to hear chilenos again, and to see the dry hills that surround Santiago. I almost wish for a moment that this was my final destination. But the voyage is not over yet. Taking off one last time, I stare at out the window to get a glimpse of Mount Aconcagua. The Andes look magical in the glorious summer sun.