It seems that no matter what may be going on in my life, I always end up feeling most at home in a hostel. Maybe this unlikely feeling is charged by the fact that everyone is a little uneasy when they first step through the doors, unsure as to what they might find there.

Each time I take my first few steps into a new hostel, I am instantly aware of my foreignness: the obvious feeling that I do not yet belong. The clumsy array of my few bags combined with the ever so elusive wallet and ID at the bottom of my purse leave me feeling vulnerable to the eyes and judgements of friends I have yet to meet. I wander around the grounds after hastily packing and unpacking my day bag, sure to secure any item of value,  walking around awkwardly to explore the space that will be my home for the next few nights.

I make eye contact and smile at other bashful strangers that I might potentially be splitting a bottle of wine with on the beach in a few hours, unlocking the secrets of the city together or delving into the deepest recesses of their souls with an enchanting story of their former travels or life experiences.

Before long the initial introductions have come and gone and my newest friends and I have become soulmates if only for a minute, an hour or a day. My life story slowly becomes intertwined with theirs as we bring out the best in each other, bouncing ideas and philosophies off one another like an etherial ping pong game. My perspective changes as I start to see the world through these strangers’ eyes. My heart fills up with joy as I can no longer imagine what my life would have become had I not been inspired by these new thoughts and feelings. I learn history, ideologies, languages I have never been exposed to and am left with a feeling of satisfaction knowing that I have become a part my new friends’ story, and they mine.

As our departure time comes closer, it becomes apparent to me that the heartbreak of parting is inevitable. When I make a connection with another persons soul, a piece of me becomes theirs, whether they feel it or not. They take a piece of me with them, and without that piece, I momentarily crumble. The feeling of their absence is so strong that I am crippled without them. The feeling of longing for one more conversation or instantaneous inside joke lingers with me. That is, until the newest stranger walks through the door and the journey begins again.