Camino

There it is. It is no different than any other cathedral you have seen: intricate and celestial. This is the cathedral you have been walking towards for 500 miles under the sun hot enough to dry every drop of water and across the never-ending plane with the odor that reminds you of some dead animals. It is the pilgrimage you thought was the perfect cure for your chronic disease of “quarterlife-crisis” and magical journey to receive your calling as St. James got his martyrdom and Paulo Coelho his penmanship.

The time you thought you would spend on pondering about life and enjoying the scenery of Rioja vineyard on the Road is rather spent on popping your scrumptiously ripen blisters or trying to sleep in a 100-bed dormitory room in the midst of a contest for “Who Can Snore the Loudest.”

It is now over. You no longer have to wake up with the preexisting pain that made you believe you are at the early stage of rheumatism or walk for 8 hours for the next pharmacy only find a sign across the closed door, Salida or Closed for the Siesta, the afternoon nap.

Yet, you cannot go inside the cathedral, because once you do, it is really over: the pasta night you host with fellow pilgrims, the night you saw the biggest and reddest moon and the sound of crickets you wake up to. No matter how much you try to stay as alive and adventurous in the real world, you know it would never feel the same.

When you finally take the last step that marks the end of 33-day journey, you understand it all. The fact you have arrived safely is a miracle and the enlightenment in itself. In front of the Pilgrim Pillar, you close your eyes and thank for your safe arrival and wish other pilgrims the same. You hope there is something else you can give back to the Road, but the only two things it will take are your footprints and gratitude.

For the last time, you say to yourself, "Buen Camino," or "safe journey" to remind you have what it takes you to become whoever you want to be. The Road knows it.