Not as noisy as the early days of Spring, nor yet as calm as late Autumn, June, like a mid-autumn station, where people suddenly want to get up from their familiar chairs, close their back doors and pack their backpacks to go somewhere undecided. There are trips that start with a ticket. There are trips that start with an appointment. But there are also trips that just start with a very vague feeling that they need to leave this place for a bit to "refresh" themselves.
And set off.
Passing through the long stretches of the station under the dim yellow lights. Passing through the escalators slowly taking you deeper into the city center. Passing through alleys so narrow that they are only enough for one person to walk, where footsteps resonate more clearly than voices.
There are places where we only stay for a few minutes. A train station, a corridor, a small street, a path in the bamboo forest, a winding village road under the early summer sun.
But strangely, sometimes the places we just pass by are the places that stay the longest in our memory.
Not everyone remembers what they ate on a day of the trip. Not everyone remembers the name of the hotel or room number where they used to stay. But many years later, people can still remember the feeling of standing alone on a deserted train track, remember the light at the end of a small alley in a strange city, remember the sound of wind blowing through the bamboo forest or the shadow of the afternoon falling on a strange road in the remote mountains.
Perhaps memories are not created by destination, but by the gaps in between. Between the place to leave and the place to come, between meeting and breaking up. Between familiar days and unknown things.
Tourism, after all, is not just moving from one place to another. It is also a journey through our own transitional spaces. Each path opens up a new perspective. Each station markers a small change. Each step takes us a little further away from our old version.
June is coming again.
The suitcases were pulled out of the corner of the cabinet. The maps were reopened. Unfinished plans began to take shape.
And many years later, when we remember this summer, we will not remember how far we have gone. Just remember that we have passed through. And those spaces, in a way, have also passed through our lives.
