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.
Dad told mom I was crying like a baby when it happened. He was right, I was bawling like the biggest 23-year-old baby in the world.
If there is one thing I want to humble brag about, it’s this.
I don’t know what my second brother was thinking when he decided that it would be a good idea to put mum, dad, and the both of us in a confined space together for six days.
Here I am writing under a red-headed tree, enjoying the perfect winter weather – sunny with a crisp, cooling breeze.
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 buried a dead bird today.
She must have fallen from the sky.
“You were born in China, right?” “No. My passport says China, but I was born in Panipahan, Indonesia,” Chu replied nonchalantly. The revelation was dumbfounding.