We all have our own terminology of ourselves:

- The Aspiring leader

- The loyal follower

- The passionate lover

- The creative dreamer

- ETC.

- So on and so forth,

I’ve finally learnt to accept the role which I’ve been handed through the years of being thrust upon – The Wandering Nomad.

NOMAD: "A member of a people having no permanent abode, and who travel from place to place to find fresh pasture for their livestock."

For the past 22 years of my life, I’ve moved houses a total of 10 times, and changed schools 5 times. Not only did I move houses, I also moved overseas for a total of 3 times. I should feel blessed, and I really do feel blessed. Getting to see different people, getting to experience different surroundings, and learning new lingos.

I should also feel blessed that I have the ultimate advantage over others that crave for this opportunity - the opportunity at a chance of RESTARTING my whole life and identity.

But that’s the problem you see, I keep changing my identity until I’ve finally lost track of who I really am. What sort of sports do I play? What sort of music do I listen to? What kind of fashion am I really into? And when I say that I don’t know the person standing on the other side of the mirror, I really mean it. All I see is Danial…

But, is it Danial Ron – The Youtuber?

Dannie – The skater?

Drizzle – The dancer?

Khairul – The Fireman?

Ron – The Junkie?

I’ve lost track of my own life’s chronology. I’m nowhere in the past, present or future. I’m just a misguided ghost caught in between the portals of my vast mind of identities.

I’m envious of those people who claim that they have “life-long” friends. May it be neighbours, primary school friends, secondary school friends, or just your average “lepak under the block” friends.

I have friends, yes. Here, there, and everywhere. Close friends? We had our share, but how long did it last? Not long enough for me to consider its existence. I’ll never forget them though, but I wouldn’t waste my time aimlessly pondering on the times we shared. It’ll just hurt me more.

After constant transfers, I’ve learnt that stagnancy is out of the question. I’m always on the move. May I be standing still at where my feet lay, I’m still fidgeting like a patient with Parkinson’s.

People ask me why I push them away from my life after I feel I’m too comfortable with them. Why I cut off all connections with my Exes (for those who still shared an impact on my life). Why I just disappear and change into someone I’m not. My answer is pretty simple, yet complicated to those who stubbornly ignore the lines in between. I’m not doing this for myself; I’m doing this for you. Of course you won’t see it now, but in a period of time, you’ll see what I’m talking about.

I never had a room in which I could decorate it the way I’ve always imagined it to be. There was only once I was allowed to put up posters, but that’s just it. Few months and poof - posters down. I’ve ALWAYS wanted to paint my own room. Four walls, one for graffiti, one for abstracts, one for hanging my skateboards, guitars, and caps, and another purely for a huge ass family tree painting.

Well, this is me just embracing another turn of a page in my metaphorical novel of mishaps and legendary quests in search for a reason. Exhausted, really I am from all these constant changes, but life waits for no one, and I don’t want to be left behind.

“The man who wants to be everywhere, will end up nowhere.”