that feeling in my chest

That feeling is building up in my chest. The one where I feel like life is passing me by. This Saturday night, I'm staying in, for a second consecutive night, allegedly quarantined but sipping wine. I’m checking Facebook statuses and reminiscing. Men I loved and lost are engaged, to women whose faces and pasts require far less cultural explanation and parental negotiation. I become a footnote, yet again. My own romance is stable and hardy, yet I crave an adventure. We're on track to leave, but I'm growing ever restless. I'm saving money, putting away my pennies for a grand around-the-world trip that will begin in less than a year. Set to commence in Prague, my inner compass is again pulling me strongly toward Korea. The land of the morning calm would be, this time, a much different experience. I left in a rush, with my eyes on an unrequited love that left me wrecked. I settled for a life I didn't want, in a place I didn't love, with people I didn't like. I've carved my niche, but it's quickly growing cramped. I'm ready to thrash my limbs about, venture into the world and explore some new milieu. It starts now. Life, that is. I have but one, as we all do, and it's for me. Not alone on my path, we'll soon leave this life and start another. My life is like a Chinese fingertrap: Fight too hard against reality and find myself paralyzed by fear and anxiety; relax and allow life to unfold, and find the freedom to choose my next step. I want to be the crazy aunt, the one who's full of stories, exotic trinkets and tales of global conquests. And miles to go before I sleep.