Convincing our parents to let me go on my journey had been surprisingly easy. When I explained to them about my insecurity and fears, they had simply given me a hug and told me to take as much time as I needed, to find out what I wanted to do with my life, reminding me that it was my life and I was the one who had to live with it. If I needed a year to figure out what I wanted to do, then I should take that year, even if I did nothing but gaze at my navel, chant buddhist sutras and meditate that whole year. The idea made me chuckle, we all knew that I’d turn insane within a day, if I were to try to remain motionless and contemplative for that long, my mind craving some sort of stimulus.

The idea of literally wandering off, to see the world, all on my own, was a harder sell. My mother was greatly opposed to the idea of me wandering off, all on my own, at least she was, until I mentioned that one of my other plans involved enlisting in the military. Suddenly, the idea of wandering off was viewed much more favourably, to the point that she supported it, all the while talking about her own, wild University-years, some of which had been spent protesting against this war or another.

With her all but convinced that letting me wander off was the only way to keep me out of the clutches of the evil, industrial-military complex, she turned into a strong ally to convince my father, an ally who was given valuable assistance by my brother. Where my mother worked with emotions, he used simple facts and information, telling both of them about the many youth-hostels all over the continent, set up for people just like me.

Some more discussion was needed, until we had a plan everyone could agree on. While they fully supported me in my plan to find myself, they required me to work out an actual plan and prepare. Walking some ten kilometres, or running five every other day was one thing, wandering like I had in mind was a whole different march. By their reckoning, running off half-cocked would only result in a phone-call home, after a day or three, so someone could come and get me.

The plan was, to get me fitted with a pair of sturdy boots and for the next two weeks, I would be given a heavy pack and hike every day, starting with fifteen kilometres and working my way up from there.

Now, two weeks later, I was deeply grateful for their insistence, the first couple of days had been a pain. Breaking in the shoes had given me blisters, the repeated marches had made me sore and somewhat miserable. In turn, my parents had done a lot to help, from supplying dressings for the blisters, to bubble-bath and my favourite food, they did their best to get me comfortable at home, while also making sure I knew what I was getting into.

And yet, despite that discomfort, my resolve only grew stronger. I wanted to make the journey, to find out if truly all roads lead to Rome. And maybe, I would find out who I was, or who I wanted to be, as I walked.

“Take care of yourself, will you?” my mother asked, pulling me out of my reverie.

“Of course, mom.” I replied, giving her a hug.

“Write a few postcards and take some pictures. Let us live vicariously through you.” dad added, wrapping me up when I let mom go.

“I will, dad.” I promised, returning the hug. It felt somewhat strange, standing in the entry-way of our house and going through such a goodbye. It was a door I had walked through thousands of times, every day of my life but now, it felt as if I was leaving forever.

“Go, I hope you find what you are looking for.” Arthur added, pulling me into a hug himself, holding me for a little longer. It was strange, knowing that I’d be separated from my twin. We had always been together, never separating for more than a day and even that only reluctantly. There had been an incident, some ten years back, that I had gone on a sleep-over to a friend’s house, only to call my parents late in the evening so they would get me, just cause I missed my twin. Not that he had fared any better, joining me for a sleep-over in my room, that same night. Alas, no matter how I felt, we both had our paths to walk and mine was taking me in a different direction.

After a second of hesitation, I picked up my backpack and, after a final wave, walked out the door, starting my journey then and there. It must have looked a little strange, walking through our residential area, geared up like I was hiking in the wilderness but then, it was what I had decided on. Sure, I could have asked my parents to drive me to the edge of town or something, or I could have taken a train, to start my journey somewhere closer to my destination. But then, did it really matter? I wasn’t walking to Rome because I wanted to get to Rome, I was walking because I wanted the time and solitude to figure out my life. Why would I get to Rome faster, why would it matter where I started?

And so, I was walking the familiar roads around our house, carrying the luggage I would need for the next few weeks. At least that was the plan, if I had missed things, I would have to buy them on the way.

It didn’t take long for the excitement of starting my journey to give way to the boredom I was feeling when walking down familiar roads. Maybe that was the problem, that I had lived in our town for all my life, that I knew the roads and what was behind the next corner. I might not be able to navigate them blindfolded but if I was dropped anywhere in our town, finding home would be a piece of cake. There was nothing new, nothing to discover, nothing that I hadn’t seen a hundred times. Boring.

Luckily, there was something I could rely on to help me pass the time, music and it’s mesmerising ability to capture my mind. If there was a job in listening to music all the time, I would be the one to take it. Sadly, without any ability to make music outside of the shower, there was no career in music for me and so I had to be content with listening to it.

Pulling out my trusty mobile and the earbuds I was using whenever blaring my music to the whole world, I unlocked it and spotted a pair of unfamiliar icons on my home-screen. One was a simple note-widget, the other a pokeball. Even if there was more than one person who could get into my phone, the pokeball-symbol pretty much told me who was responsible.

Knowing my brother, I opened the note before opening up the Pokemon-Go app, curious why he had put it on my phone.

“Hey Sis. Knowing you, you’ll be bored out of your skull before you get out of town. Given that you’ll be walking all over, why not take a buddy with you. Snap some pictures for me and remember, to face every challenge along the way with courage, to battle every day to claim your rightful place.

Love, Arthur. “

I had a silly grin on my face, partially because he knew me so well, partially because Pokemon had been something we had shared since forever. Back when we were children, Arthur had managed to convince me to write a Gameboy with a Pokemon-Game down as my birthday-wish, just coincidentally the companion-game to the one he had written down. You see, he needed someone to trade version-exclusive Pokemon and he had known that mom and dad would never buy him both games. But buying one game for me and one for him? That was perfectly normal in their eyes. From then on, he had been totally hooked and dragged me along with him, even if I had never the same enthusiasm as he had.

Where I had been content with a team of cool Pokemon that would allow me to beat the game and have fun along the way, he had taken the games and made a science out of them.

Each Pokemon on his teams was perfected, their determinant values carefully crafted and bred to perfection, until he had the strongest possible team. Where I would play one of the games for a few hours a week, for a few weeks until I finished the story-line and caught as many Pokemon as I stumbled upon during my journey, he spent hours upon hours, playing them, enjoying unravelling the maths behind the games and aiming for perfection. It wasn’t about the game, those were easy for me and trivial for him, it was about the maths.

Still grinning, I popped in my earbuds, opened up the Pokemon-Go app and queued the first song in my music-library, only to stumble, almost falling flat on my face. Instead of one of my usual rock- or metal-songs, what I heard was a little different. Oh, it was metal, but a metal-cover of the Pokemon-theme-song, undoubtedly left there by Arthur. If nothing else, he had managed to make me smile.

My smile grew even wider, when I realised just who had been set-up as my buddy, good, old Charmander. Back in the day, I had gotten the version with the cool dragon, while he had received the one with the armoured turtle, giving me a love for that little fire-lizard.

After feeding a few virtual berries to my new companion, I continued on, now with a spring in my step and no longer bored. There was a whole world to explore and I was going to have fun doing so.