Monomad: One last run through the streets of Yerevan

I don't think I'll be running around Yerevan again. I managed to book tickets to Tbilisi for Saturday and I don't think I have a reason to venture out again until that point. As the sun began to set I decided to run around for an hour with the Sony and Helios and capture a few final photographs, capturing the low light and the life that still was found within the city. I realised I would miss many aspects of this place, but I felt that excitement knowing that new adventures awaited. I can get attached to places easily, I think. I miss the village in Georgia, the simple way of life and the kindness of its people. The nature nearby and the mountains that held the village tightly. I miss my village in England. The typical 'The Lord of the Rings' feeling of missing the shire: the tall grass that sways in the wind. The sun setting over the hills. And the quiet peace of the fields with a gentle river that runs through the landscape. I will miss Armenia, the diverse landscapes of dirt, trees, and mountains. The Soviet history that speaks of another world and the identity of traditional Armenian culture. I will miss the adventure I once had here as I roamed streets unknown to me, curious and excited, feeling like I had entered another dimension and time. But I know that soon I will be in Tbilisi, a new place in which all of that will soon start again. But I think the main thing I will miss here are the people, the ones that have supported me and given such kindness to me. The ones I wish I didn't have to say goodbye to. But that's life, isn't it? The exploration, the roaming of the world, the refusal to accept that mundane reality of present day that keeps us idle within a small space for our entire lives. And this will never truly appeal to me.

I know now that I am a nomad. A person that needs to get out and explore. The feeling of intense peace is felt when I know I will be heading into the unknown, to discover and feel something in a place I feel utterly lost in. I felt that when I first arrived in Istanbul in October. On Halloween night when I flew into Zvartnots airport. And when I found myself in the oldest and strangest environments in Armenia. I never did explore everything here, but that's fine. I still feel my soul telling me to move on, to find something new and better. To see what comes from new challenges and growth.

And at the age of 29, I feel that growth, I feel like a fundamentally different person to who I was a year ago, to who I was a decade ago. I feel that I know what I want from life now and how to pursue it. I feel the struggles of modern life and the obligations, but I know that the best way to address it all is to attack it head on. To accept the potential of failure, but also in a way to refuse the mere possibility of it. To only accept success in any form I can obtain it. And this is heavily motivational. The realisation that the world is mine to pursue, and that there's really nothing I can't take on and adapt to. I think travel does this to mind, as you adapt to new cultures, new ways of life and the challenges that come with being in a new place so different to the home you grew up in. In Istanbul the environment was full of hills, and the culture varied from big western brands to open markets in the streets. The smell of smoke and incense burned the lungs throughout the city. In Armenia, the water turns off at night. The transport relies mostly on small mini buses and the environment is dry enough to pull out new wrinkles in the face and hands. The air feeling empty, almost unforgiving. The more cash reliant society insists that you carry around change of varying sizes, the idea of a card is still new.

I think we take a bit of each of these lessons with us once we leave. The idea that a nation after a long duration of time within it sort of remains within. I don't think I will be leaving Armenia, as it'll remain a part of me both in memory and the lessons learned from it. I like to think that way, at least. The same can be said for Istanbul. I feel that these places influence and shape our minds in a way that we, if ever, return to our initial homes a different person. It is a bit cliche to say that travel shapes the mind, but there is some truth to that.

It's why leaving a place can be bittersweet. The sadness of moving on and saying goodbye, but the realisation that the place will remain there to visit another time, at any point. And that this life holds no certainty to it all. Why wouldn't you move on to a new place? Why not explore beyond? Over the tree line, down that long and winding road, or through the tunnel to find out what's on the other side? This world is so big, so connected yet disconnected. So diverse in its offerings of nature and culture. It's incredible, and I want to see it all. A sense of constant motion, constant discovery and capturing with the camera. All the little moments mean so much to me, and the idea of capturing them with a camera gives me genuine purpose. Finally I see direction, an interest and pursuit. The storyteller, observational perspectives, and the create within burst with joy at the idea of finding something new to share with others, even if that circle remains small. I have said it countless times, but the days in which I roam the streets with a camera are by far my favourite. The sense of peace is felt, I forget about everything else. Nothing else matters or holds any weight as I finally break free from the shackles of all expectations and problems within present day life. All that remains is the feeling of being in the present, noticing what's in front of me in the now.

I'm not sure when this all started, however. I wasn't always this way, and for the longest time I did nothing but stay in my room doing nothing. It was only really once I got a drone that I started to get out more and really start exploring and seeing things differently. I had a camera before that but it didn't always motivate me in such a tight environment void of unique subjects to capture each day. I did feel the boredom and limitations on foot. Perhaps the aerial views sparked something within, to look down at my small world and feel how fragile, yet vast it really is.

And there's the realisation that none of this may mean anything in the grand scheme of things. This whole existence is unknown. Totally made up concepts that keep us somewhat sane and structural. Is there a right way to live? From what I have gathered about myself, I feel that the right way for me is to keep capturing the world. To observe and understand it all as it unfolds around me, to take in snippets of information and see how I feel about them and understand it all, how it all shapes me as a person.