The day that would be the worst day of my life to date was 22nd September 2011 a few weeks after I came back from Italy and I will never forget those words my Mam said to me that morning 'Son I have some bad news,your Dads died'.He passed away outside a taxi rank in Middlesbrough that morning of something called hyper-tensive heart failure.Boom my world had collapsed,plans halted and I was in a state of utter shock.What the hell do I do?! We went to the funeral up north the following Friday,and the same night came back to go to my Aunts Wedding in Horsham on the Saturday,such a contrast and such an emotional time in the space of 24 hours,I just bit my tongue and put a brave smile on.
Time went on very fast and I began to think about what to do.I decided to delay my plans till at least I had gotten my head right,at such a difficult time,travelling was the last thing on my mind.
I filled that time with the only thing I could do,go out as much as possible,seeing friends and family at every opportunity I had, after all life really is too short.
Due to the unforeseen events that did happen,I began to think about the purpose of travelling,why do it,and if I didn't do it,how would I feel about it.It had been such a big dream to backpack,that if I didn't I would be so angry with myself for letting this great opportunity pass by,big decisions had to be made.
When my Dad was alive I would of liked to think he would of been proud of me for taking life by the horns and running with it,doing what I wanted to do.So after a lot of thinking,a lot of talking and listening with friends and family I've decided to jump head first in the deep end and go to India.Book it,pack it and fuck off.
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