Vanessa Hock

JANE DOE

In a year that changed my life, I traveled across Africa—through deserts and rainforests, bustling cities and quiet villages—carrying everything I owned in a single weathered backpack. That backpack now sits in the corner of my closet, faded and torn, but filled with memory. A pebble from a Namibian canyon, smoothed by wind and time. A keychain from a market in Zanzibar, chipped but still bright. A photo of an elephant crossing the savanna at sunset, peaceful and enormous, a reminder of how small and alive I felt. These souvenirs aren’t just objects; they’re vessels of a version of myself I met on the road—curious, uncertain, deeply changed.