I choose a life overseas.

High time bike and me go once again and see.

For not on calm days only.

When wind rises, rise a storm.

Far eastward, when daylight comes.

In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly.

But westward, look the land is bright.

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Travel is rebellion in its purist form.

We follow our heart.

We free ourselves of labels.

We lose control willingly.

We love the informality.

We trust strangers.

We own only what we carry.

We search for better questions, not answers.

We truly graduate.

We sometimes choose never to come back.