Mostar’s bridge is supposed to be the thing you remember—the perfect arch, the blue river, the way the light hits the stones at sunset. I took the photos everyone takes. But standing there, I felt like an outsider, watching other people’s nostalgia play out in real time. The old town is crowded with souvenirs and stories that aren’t mine. I tried to feel moved, but mostly I felt like I was intruding on something private. I kept thinking about the war, the way the city is still stitched together with scars you can’t see in a postcard. I wanted to feel changed. Instead, I just felt small. Maybe that’s what travel really is: realizing how much of the world doesn’t need you to understand it. #Travel #TravelConfession #NotJustPostcards