"The light that we see is a very narrow band of the electromagnetic spectrum, a spectrum of radiation wavelengths that stretches all the way from waves the size of buildings to waves the size of atomic nuclei. Visible light has wavelengths roughly the size of single cell organisms like protozoans; so small but not anywhere nearly as small as atoms. Our eyes are actually extremely sensitive wavelength detectors in the visible range. We can distinguish between the longer wavelengths of red light and the short wavelengths of blue light, and that is what blue is." - Hank Green
Many, many times I've watched from tiny windows of airplanes which seem to be portals into other worlds. I've watched the deep blues of the ocean and the whites of the arctic endlessness. On the overland journey I have stared from my window of bus, taxi or rental car as the dusts of the desert slowly turn into rocky lumps of brown sugar into pointy snow-topped mountains and back again. There are times when I sit half asleep, backpack in my lap and feel the sweat stained skin of local people falling unconscious in crowded bus seats next me.
The road gets shaky and rough, like a turbulent airplane. You laugh at your ability to accept fate and marvel in how romantic it would be to die in such a beautiful place only to snap out of it and have fits of panic as your vehicle loses any rational sense of eyesight to the deep cliffs below.
I watch and I think to myself of what travel means to me. A deep and permanent observation of life and the ideas of living. It is not to cliche the abundance of the life I have been born into but sometimes it is so amazing to me how much people from my culture have taken for granted.
It becomes a part of me and of it my ideas of perception and how we interpret the world around us. If life is such a vast spectrum of wavelengths and there is such a small window for us to find our interpretations of life than I cannot help but wonder what other colors are out there. I had never known before what deep blue was before I saw it 10.000 meters above the ocean or perhaps from 16 meters below via mask.
There was a time when I used to sit submerged in the Pacific Ocean only snorkel's length below the surface. I found a seat on the crusty coral reef not far from the coast of the village I once called my home and I used to stare endlessly into the nothingness of the abyss. This was my alone place, my comfort zone where I could go to remember that I'm nothing more than a tiny, tiny drop in a vast and unconquerable ocean.
Many, many times I've watched from tiny windows of airplanes which seem to be portals into other worlds. I've watched the deep blues of the ocean and the whites of the arctic endlessness. On the overland journey I have stared from my window of bus, taxi or rental car as the dusts of the desert slowly turn into rocky lumps of brown sugar into pointy snow-topped mountains and back again. There are times when I sit half asleep, backpack in my lap and feel the sweat stained skin of local people falling unconscious in crowded bus seats next me.
The road gets shaky and rough, like a turbulent airplane. You laugh at your ability to accept fate and marvel in how romantic it would be to die in such a beautiful place only to snap out of it and have fits of panic as your vehicle loses any rational sense of eyesight to the deep cliffs below.
I watch and I think to myself of what travel means to me. A deep and permanent observation of life and the ideas of living. It is not to cliche the abundance of the life I have been born into but sometimes it is so amazing to me how much people from my culture have taken for granted.
It becomes a part of me and of it my ideas of perception and how we interpret the world around us. If life is such a vast spectrum of wavelengths and there is such a small window for us to find our interpretations of life than I cannot help but wonder what other colors are out there. I had never known before what deep blue was before I saw it 10.000 meters above the ocean or perhaps from 16 meters below via mask.
There was a time when I used to sit submerged in the Pacific Ocean only snorkel's length below the surface. I found a seat on the crusty coral reef not far from the coast of the village I once called my home and I used to stare endlessly into the nothingness of the abyss. This was my alone place, my comfort zone where I could go to remember that I'm nothing more than a tiny, tiny drop in a vast and unconquerable ocean.
