It was a week before the late Thai King Bhumibol Adulyadej’s funeral when I arrived in Bangkok for a conference and I did not expect that my world would turn black for the next week.
In a quiet, dusty alleyway in Coptic Cairo, a toddler, barely 3, cries mercilessly as he was forced to get a tattoo.
When I first heard about David Wu’s 4,000km cycling expedition from Kedah to China, I thought it would be a story of a man discovering his home. ‘This would be an article of a lost man finding where he truly belonged’, I thought as I get ready to meet him.
My mom always told me never to talk to strangers. I’m glad I didn’t listen to her. They have so much to share, and so much to teach. Just like these random guys that I met on my wander in New Zealand.
One of the sweetest parts about travelling is meeting the locals, having a chat with them, and learning about their lives.
I love my dad, but I don’t trust him.
Every morning while I get ready for work, I would see my Ah Ma sitting in the rattan chair at our front porch, enjoying the early morning wind. Her eyes stare blankly at the moving traffic; her mind replaying the days of her youth.
Don’t you want to go home for good? I asked.
I was immersing into my own world, floating in the cold South China Sea water when two boys in their early 20s approached me.