I'm going to a place where they say the sun smiles. A place by the Mediterranean Sea where people have lived for 20,000 years, where Alexander the Great passed by and Cleopatra visited, a port of pirates.
I'm not looking forward to it. Even though it's a holiday in the sun and I, the wandering star, haven't been beyond a hundred miles from home for two years. Maybe home has killed my love of adventure. I'm afraid of Turks (for no good reason, I just don't know any). I fear that the flight will be horrible and I will arrive feeling sick and realise that the hotel is awful. I'm worried that my travel companion, my elderly mother, will fall sick or be robbed.
But most of all, I'm scared that I will get there and experience that wonderful adventure of being in a new and foreign place where I've never been before - and that I will be completely, utterly indifferent. I'm terrified of discovering that nothing has the power to move me anymore.
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