Every year, I get a day off in a foreign land. A gloriously rare day by myself in which I don’t have to care about mind changers and mood shifters (read: my children). Because this freedom is a luxury commodity for me, I have to consider otherwise mundane decisions with a lot of weight.

Do I spend it alone or hang out with a friend? Do I visit a favourite haunt or explore a new attraction? Do I take it slowly and savour oolong tea latte at Starbucks (a drink I can’t get back in my home country) or walk tirelessly until my legs are about to give way?

Do I go with the flow, my gut or do I bring in a rational cost-benefit analysis?

These questions race through my mind like a shinkansen train roaring towards its destination.

When you become a parent, a lot of your personal life has been cast in stone. Unshakeable. I’m sure I’m not the only parent who feels that his personal identity is eroded away. Whether my personality eventually resembles fine sand or rough pebbles is up in the air, though.

But I think I have realised one thing this year.

In the end, it isn’t so much about what I do but about how I savour my freedom. Holding my breath steadily and allowing the tranquility to wash over me and seep into my being.

Which is why I am going to end this post, take out my eye mask (I am alone! I don’t care what strangers think about my weird act!), close my eyes and simply be.