Growing up, I often heard stories about places far beyond the town where we lived. My mum’s stories weren’t of places she had visited but of places she had dreamed about — cities full of history, beaches kissed by golden sunsets, mountains shrouded in mist, and bustling markets filled with colorful spices and laughter. She spoke of Paris, New York, Kyoto, and the Amalfi Coast with the same reverence most people reserve for treasured memories. But the truth was, life happened, and my mum never got a chance to travel.
It’s a phrase I find myself repeating quietly: “Life happened.” It sounds almost like an excuse, but it’s so much more than that. It’s the unfolding of countless responsibilities, sacrifices, and moments that shape a person’s journey. For my mum, life was filled with commitments that kept her rooted in one place, even as her heart longed to explore the world.
From a young age, my mum took on the role of caretaker. Her own parents passed away when she was still in her twenties, leaving her to look after her younger siblings. Those years demanded resilience and strength. She set aside her own ambitions, including travel, to build a stable home for her family. I imagine that in those quiet, exhausting nights she spent comforting a sick sibling or managing the household finances, the dreams of distant lands flickered quietly but never faded.
Then came motherhood — a chapter that defined her life in ways she never anticipated. Raising children is a full-time journey, with countless moments of joy, worry, and exhaustion. The baby’s first steps, the school plays, the teenage heartbreaks — these were the milestones that filled her days and anchored her heart. Traveling alone or even as a family seemed like a luxury that didn’t quite fit into the tight fabric of our lives.
It wasn’t just the practicalities that held her back. There were financial limitations, too, that weighed heavily. Every extra penny was invested in our education, health, and wellbeing. Vacations became brief trips to nearby parks or relatives’ homes — beautiful in their own way, but far from the foreign cities she had longed to see. I sometimes wonder if she ever resented that, but she never showed it. Instead, she smiled and made every small adventure feel magical.
As I grew older, I began to understand the full scope of her sacrifices. My mum was the quiet engine behind so many moments of happiness and stability. She didn’t complain or ask for much. The world she created for us was her priority, and travel was a dream put on pause — perhaps indefinitely. She found joy in simple pleasures: cooking meals from recipes she’d never tasted abroad, learning a few words in different languages, and watching travel documentaries that sparked her imagination.
Yet, despite never physically traveling, her spirit was undeniably adventurous. She was endlessly curious, always eager to learn about different cultures and histories. Books became her windows to the world. I remember coming home from school to find her engrossed in a novel set in India or a documentary about the deserts of Africa. Travel was alive in her mind, if not in her feet.
There’s a bittersweetness to this — knowing that someone you love carries a world of dreams inside them, dreams they never quite fulfilled. Sometimes, it made me want to cry, but it also made me determined. I realized how precious travel could be, not just as a pastime, but as a way to connect with the vast, diverse world beyond our doorstep.
When I finally had the chance to travel on my own, I made it my mission to carry my mum’s dreams with me. Every postcard I sent, every souvenir I brought back, was a way of sharing those distant places with her. I would call her after every trip, describing the scents, colors, and sounds, hoping to bring a piece of the world into her life.
Now, when I look back, I see that while my mum didn’t travel physically, her journey was no less profound. Her life was full of rich experiences, grounded in love, resilience, and the courage to keep moving forward despite limitations. She taught me that life’s detours don’t erase dreams; they sometimes reshape them into something equally beautiful.
Her story also reminds me that travel is not just about ticking countries off a list but about opening oneself to new experiences, perspectives, and growth. My mum traveled through the stories she read, the cultures she embraced in her kitchen, and the values she instilled in me.
Life is unpredictable. Sometimes, dreams have to wait. But the hope, the yearning, and the lessons we gather along the way are powerful. My mum’s untraveled roads became a source of inspiration for me — a reminder to cherish every opportunity and to carry the dreams of those we love in our hearts and journeys.
I often wonder, if she had the chance now, where she would go first. Would she wander the romantic streets of Paris, lose herself in the vibrant markets of Marrakech, or stand silently in awe beneath the towering temples of Angkor Wat? The answers don’t really matter. What matters is that her spirit, her dreams, and her love continue to travel — through me, through my stories, and through the lives she touched.
So, life happened. And my mum never got a chance to travel. But her journey was never just about destinations. It was about love, sacrifice, and the quiet, profound courage to keep dreaming, even when the world seemed just out of reach.
