There are some things that I’d never do in life, and probably never will if I didn’t travel.

Here are a list of things that I picked up while travelling. Most of these experiences are pretty harmless; some are things that I’ll never do again, while some are things that I’d do occasionally, when necessity requires:

1) Drinking
Never drank a single drop of alcohol till I travelled and volunteered in Myanmar last year. Not even those 4 years of my life, spent in Australia. I still don’t make it a habit to drink whenever I’m home however, can’t say the same while being on the road. It’s easier to bond with travellers over a beer or two. However, I’ve never drank past my limit and never went beyond tipsy. I’m the best person to take out to parties because I’d probably remain sober the entire time. Shame I don’t drive though.

2) Happy herb
I had my first taste of marijuana when I was in Sihanoukville. Since I don’t smoke, I usually decline the joints that were passed around. However, at one time, Mr. Faccenda made a pizza stuffed with pot and I thought why not give it a try. Besides, I’d only be eating it, not smoking it. Mr. Faccenda and Mr. Stienstra sat me down to tell me the effects of joint and how it’d effect a first timer, and then extended the plate of pizza to me. I took a piece and tasted the pizza as indulgently as possible. However, they both forgot that I should have a smaller piece as I’m barely 5ft tall. Needless to say, the experience hit me hard in the stomach. I spaced out, I cried and I slept. It was so awful (even though I knew what to expect) that I’d never try it again-whether eating it or smoking it.

3) Cursing
I’m a little foul mouthed lately. I don’t swear like a sailor but occasionally you’d hear me using the word ‘fuck’ to punctuate some sentences for emphasis. It’s good for story-telling, I reckon. Also, it’s especially not difficult to swear when you get rejected at the airport by some stupid authorities or thought your laptop broke. Sometimes, travelling puts you in situations where no amount of crying, pleading and fighting against authorities or circumstances will help; all there’s to do is to swear and sometimes, surprisingly, it does make you feel a little better.

4) Talking to strangers
Ah, most of my friends don’t agree with me at this point because back home, I do speak to strangers as well, but not as frequent. While travelling, it’s easy to talk to strangers; to go out for coffee and perhaps never see them again. However, having said that, I’ve met several like-minded souls that, what was initially a chat over coffee stretched into either a bowling session, breakfast-lunch-dinner, or long periods of travelling together. So essentially, the stranger turns into a friend after that. Do note that if you intend to employ this habit or hobby while travelling, you have to have certain instincts. You have to be able to sense the vibes the person exude ; you have to be a good judge of character. Try to avoid chatting up with paedophiles, serial killers or junkies.

5) Wearing a piece of clothing for at least 2-3 days.

When you’re on the road, you can’t expect every place that you’re at to be like Khao San Rd, where laundromats are aplenty. So when you get to a place the next laundromat is at least 3 km away, and it costs at least 2-3 USD for a kilogram of dirty underwear, shorts and shirts, I’d usually wear the same shirt and shorts for the next few days. When I get desperate, sometimes even my underwear for a few days. However, when some parts of the body start to itch, I’d know that it’s time to do that long walk or buy some washing detergent and use the Oral B floss as clothes line.

Current thoughts: Random strangers from all around the world, random good times, random names, random places, random connections; they all make up the intricate web of life.

After a number of pending applications and lack of follow up, what was before a good total of potential TESL (Teaching English as a Second Language) jobs dwindled into almost nothing. I’m still not very sure whether I’m as focussed as getting into China as before, because Ed just found a job in Hanoi, Vietnam. He told me that it’s not very difficult to do so if I put my heart into finding it. Using Squidman‘s contacts and the adverts posted on The New Hanoian, I sent my resumes to each and every school, tenaciously. Each time I do that, I’d cross my fingers and pray for the best. If there are some schools in China and Japan (no follow ups after that though…:( ) who are willing to consider me as an ESL teacher, despite having no TEFL qualifications, then maybe it’d be the same in Hanoi too.

However today, I received a response from Equest, Hanoi, stating that they’d be more than happy to consider my application but only I speak American. Furthermore, the email instructed me to record my voice in an audio file so that they could process the application. I laughed and laughed at that. I’ve never came across such weird requests before. Some has asked me for a scanned copy of my degree, my passport, my awards, my picture, but never an audio file.

Oh well, I don’t think I’d make a very good impression through the mic. I reckon I should just knock on their door next week, when I arrive in Hanoi.

Do wish me luck about the job. My bank account really needs padding now.

Current plans:

Very soon I’ll be on a second-class train to Nong Khai. I’d be staying with a couchsurfer in Bueng Kan, a remote village 3 hours away from the sleepy and dusty town of Nong Khai. On Saturday, I’d cross in Vientianne, Laos. There, I’ll be reunited with Vilayvanh (more affectionately known as Micky), an ex-university mate in Australia. Curtin has been good to us; I can’t wait to see her again!

The stop at Perhentian Islands was an interesting one. Mr.Coca, a couchsurfer from Kansas, who was travelling around the world then, agreed to be my partner-in-crime. While I may be known to travel with random strangers; no, Mr. Coca, at that time was no longer a stranger. I’ve known him for a while; Ed hosted both Mr.Stienstra (from Holland) and Mr.Coca at the same time. Before that, our first travelling stint was in Pangkor Islands with Stienstra, and it was great fun!

Another couchsurfer from San Diego but who’s currently a student exchange in Japan, emailed me that he’ll be arriving on the day we depart. Prior to that, we had exchanged friendly emails and msn chats. Mr. Perez requested whether he could be part of the backpacking crew and it took me a quite a while before I finally agreed. Coca said yes as well. I have always been wary of travelling with people. As elaborated in the other entries, I take great care in choosing my travel partners because it can be quite a pain in the ass when you’re with someone who’s not quite right. Sometimes, even best friends and couples fall out simply because they cannot travel together. Anyway, I thought I’d meet Mr. Perez up for a cuppa before agreeing to anything.

When I picked him up from Central Market, he turned out to be a really nice, young guy. Very intuitive, intelligent, sensitive and fun-loving. He got along well with Coca as well. Having bonded over a few glasses of teh ais, we took him in and made him partner-in-crime #3.

Below is something brief about the trip.

Highlights for Long Beach, Perhentian Kecil:

1) Dancing on the jagged edge of the rocks while listening to Perez’s ipod. It was amazing how two people who just met can connect that instantly! We shared so much that, we still keep in touch till today! I’d really love to see that guy again, somewhere, someday!
2) Meeting Mr.Bristow, a hard-to-please Englishman, who’s an incredible ESL teacher who has taught around the globe. He provided me with a wealth of insights about teaching ESL in Italy, Crotia, Lithuania, China and Thailand. Squidman introduced us virtually and Bristow agreed to meet me in Perhentians as he was already in Thailand when that introduction took place. He emailed in reply, saying that any friend of Squidman’s a friend of his. I guess I owe that to Squidman. Bristow has high standards about everything in life and while he can be pretty harsh on certain things, I’m surprised he warmed up to my company. I didn’t think that a naive 24 year old could contribute anything intelligent , especially when the 37 year old is a widely-travelled and intelligent man.
3)Meeting Mr.Stienstra and Ms. Vanduffel(from Belgium) again. Stienstra gave me a very warm welcome when he saw me on the beach.
4)Philosophical discussions on the balcony of our little hut. I share that hut with Coca and Perez.
5) Brushing my teeth under the stars.
6) Exploring Perhentian Kecil with Stienstra and Bristow. With only flip flops, we trekked along the shoreline, from the forest into the rocks and then on the sand, and back to the forest. We covered at least 30 km or more, and that took us half a day. We found abandoned guesthouses, gigantic spiders, a naked Frenchman, some secluded beachspots and interesting flora and fauna. I felt like I was a character out of Famous Five, sniffing out mysteries and trying to solve them. The only problem is, the mysteries were only imaginary, but the picturesque backdrop was very, very real.
7) Over-the-top Snicker shakes that were enjoyed during our card-playing sessions.
8)A day snorkelling with Bristow. It cost us RM50 but it was worth every cent. Being a relatively amateur snorkeller, I was dazzled by the treasures hidden in the azure depths. Also, we saw sharks, turtles, a dizzying variety of fish and coral beds-as promised.
9)The friendship formed amongst: Bristow, Stienstra,Vanduffel, Perez, Coca and myself. First it was 2, and then it was 6. In this case, the more the merrier!

Thoughts:
1) The backpackers on Perhentian Kecil was a little more aloof than those on Pangkor Islands. It was so much easier to meet people and make friends in the guesthouse in Pangkor, compared to Perhentian Kecil. Everyone seem to be have a default scowl on their face, and even when you greet them, they’d reluctantly push some face muscles up to alleviate their lips, in to what they’d resemble a smile.

2) Why were there so many abandoned guesthouses They all looked hauntingly eerie; silent and steady, looking out into the sea. We found books, clothes, keys and broken furniture all over. Why did the owners leave the guesthouses in such a way? Were they in a hurry and why? We talked to some locals about the Mira and Dilangsir cliff huts and they said they were haunted. Oh well.

Perez and myself at a travel agency in Kuala Besut, at 5.30am

Perez and me, indulging in our Snicker Shakes

Perez, Coca and myself, posing at the balcony, the one where we’d hold discussions at

Stienstra explores the abadoned guesthouse while Bristow looks on

The mad trio explores the other side of Perhentian Kecil

Dusk settles gently at Coral Bay

Romantic Beach at Perhentian Besar

The gang

Music, a close friend and the sea-what more can you ask for?

Freedom dancing

One who wanders but does not write, or one that writes but does not wander is easy; but being an aspiring wander writer is not. Why a wander writer, you may ask. An unusual label for one to call oneself, you think. I don’t exactly travel, you see. I don’t have the quintessential gears of a traveller and most of my adventures consist of habitual wandering and an occasional stumbling.

Anyway, two months have flown by yet my pathetic blog bears no new entries that detail the itinerary of my travels. It stands as lonesome as before, without an author nurturing it after it’s birth ; not even a clever quote or an insightful anecdote. Many friends and random strangers have stumbled upon my website and then send me emails of complaint, lamenting my lack of presence in the blog sphere. In response, I’d usually remedy the situation with excuses like I don’t have a laptop; internet cafes are difficult to find; I don’t have 24 hr access to ADSL and the list stretches long and vast like a Christmas list. But who I am really kidding? Mr. Bonsey, a brilliant wordsmith, once told me that, a writer can only call themselves one when they have finished writing a book.

“A book ? ” I gulped.

* * *

My head usually hangs low in shame whenever someone asks me what I do for a living, and I reluctantly admit that I’m a writer. While my confession of my profession would usually evoke a response of awe and wonder from the person who asked, and I usually cringe in response, embarrassed, thinking silently how I’d call myself a writer when I could hardly update something as simple as my personal blog. If my personal blog is in a perpetual hiatus, what does it say about me as a writer? If I can’t even compose a weekly or a fortnightly entry, what makes me think that I eventually write for Conde Nest Traveler, Travel + Leisure or even the local travel periodicals? What gives me the right to give myself the title of a writer when I don’t even write? Every night, I’d dream of Pico Iyer, Rolf Potts, Tony & Maureen Wheeler, Gregory Robert Jones, Paul Theroux and Tim Cahill marching me to the lightless dungeons after finding out that I’m a fraud. However, it isn’t just the nightmares. A friend of mine, a professional photojournalist whose articles have been published in one or two local lifestyle magazines, once reprimanded me for being lazy, inconsistent and lack of focus. Mr. J scolded me that I should discipline myself and put myself in the habit of writing. Find a story that I’m passionate about and write about it. I can’t just sit on my big fat ass and use the word ‘writer’ as a noun when I don’t even use it as a verb. I have to actively find story angles and communicate it to the world. It’s not enough, just getting writing assignments from my editor and then going out to do it. Depending on the credibility and the creativity of the publication staff, if I don’t work an extra mile and add a dash of initiative in writing my own stories, I’d never be able to make a breakthrough in my writing career. A spot in Time, National Geographic or a book that I author will not automatically land on my lap if I don’t sweat blood and tears for it. Mr. J further added that if I ever list him as one of my referees in my CV, what exactly can he tell my potential employers? Yes, I can say that you have the talent, the creativity and the wit that you can put to good use in your writing career, but have you got the passion, the vision and a responsible character to match? Can I say that you have the initiative and the focus if you’re so easily distracted? It was one of the harshest advice that I’ve ever received over the MSN, but it was not said without concern. The very first time I saw you write, I could tell that you have the stuff to go far, but what’s the point if you don’t use it? Write with passion and focus, Ying…just like the first few letters you wrote to me.

* * *

My acquaintance with Mr. Bonsey then proved to not only to be pleasurable but also inspiring. He was only 30 years old when I met him, and already, he can speak 4 languages fluently: English, Spanish, Japanese, Thai and has a number of professional experiences tucked under his belt. He was a broadcast sports journalist, a professional Jap/Eng translator and an avant-garde writer. I also suspect that he modelled on casual basis because he bears an uncanny resemblance to Justin Timberlake. He modestly described himself as an aspiring artist even though he had several short stories published in some online journals that only those in the exclusive American literary circles would know. At that time of our acquaintance, he was also in the midst of writing a descriptive novel, based on Thailand. I met Mr. Bonsey in Chiang Mai, where he offered me his small, black leather couch to be my temporary home for a couple of days. We also rented a car together for a road trip Mae Sot and Mae Sariang. Thailand. Together, we explored the cultural and political dichotomy in Mae Sot. Anyway, when I was around, Mr. Bonsey was at his busiest. Nonetheless, he would wake up early every morning to add at least 1000 words to the story that he’s working on. Everywhere we go, he’d constantly take down notes of the scene around him. Those random descriptions will eventually land on the pages of his book. Inspired, I thought I’d try. In the beginning of my journey, I’ve purchased a green leather-bound journal. Every page is crisp and fresh, inviting the ink of my pen to dance on it. However, not being used to pen and paper after long periods of using the keyboard, I gave up after a while. Every time when I find myself writing awkwardly, with dangling modifiers and grammatical no-no’s, I’d put stash away my journal and hope that I could find a computer where I can upload my thoughts. However, by the time I could find one, my ideas will evaporate. Nothing could bring them back again and I’d hit a wall, again.

My host Justin-we were on our way to Mae Sot (border between Thailand and Myanmar)

Justin’s pad and couch

However, not too long after that, I also purchased Shantaram- a novel based on true experiences of an Australian ex-convict who escaped the torture of prisons and ended up in Bombay while on his way to Germany. It’s a 900 pages worth of Bollywood drama, written by Gregory James Roberts, who was a writer before he became one of Australia’s most wanted man. The book made me yearn to immortalise my travel adventures into words. His poetic capability to put words into a rhythmic prose invoked a flood of admiration in me. Also, I found I could relate to the experiences that he’d write about.

“Every day, when you’re on the run, is the whole of your lie. Every free minute is a short story with a happy ending.”

The prose left a huge impact on me. Even though I’m not on the run, I feel like I’m living on borrowed cash. I don’t have a job hence no secure income, I wander from destination to destination hence without a home and if I don’t find something to sustain my travels soon, I’d be forced to turn back and return to square one.

And then it struck me that, if Mr. Jones could write about his larger than life adventures, perhaps I should attempt one as well. I realised that I do have the juice and gossip for a book’s content, if only I’d take some time to write.

However, Mr. Wang, one of the more interesting colleagues that I had, told me that instead of taking that big leap, why not keep a blog? “Ying, you’re the only one who’s on constant motion. I bet you have tonnes of gossip to share! A book? That’s ancient methodology, girl. If you want to be heard, get it out online. I’m surprised you’ve yet to take advantage of the wonders of technology. And these days, people make money from it. Come on, heave your ass and work on it!”

After much rumination, I decided to go back to Kuala Lumpur for a while so that I could get my brother’s old laptop. It’s a chunky machine that runs on a Pentium 3 and has less than 20G of hard disk space but nonetheless functions as it should. I wrap the laptop with my multipurpose sarong, and put a soft case over it before packing it into my daypack. Surprisingly, it doesn’t weigh as heavy as I’d imagine.

Thus with the aid of a laptop, my blog is reborn again.

* * *

Much has happened over the past few months. Last November, I was officially off my company’s payroll. With a light heart, I declared myself a free person. Squidman called me The Departed. Very apt, I suppose.

From Nov to Feb, I was backpacking around Malaysia, sometimes with friends who I met over www.couchsurfing.com and sometimes without. My travels took me to various places including Pangkor Islands, Malacca, Kota Bahru, Penang, Cameron Highlands, Taiping, Ipoh, Segamat, Cherating, Benta, Fraser’s Hill, Perhentian Islands and some other obscure Southern towns with names that I fail to recall. There was even a time where I did a two-day stint to Ranong, a small NorthWest town of Thailand to see a friend. That didn’t turn out too well though. Thankfully, Squidman was there as my partner-in-crime and together, we survived the piss-drunk-driver-and-stranded-in-the-middle-of-nowhere ordeal.

Songkran in Bangkok

The worst 24-hr train ride from Butterworth to Bangkok

Ko Chang bungalows

Train ride from Bangkok to Aranyapathet (Thailand/Cambodia border)

Into the Wild (Mafia’s den in Poipet)

I didn’t have a lot of money, only a mere RM2000++. Occasionally, an article or two, or a freelance copywriting assignment will rein in some cash but my account doesn’t go more than RM3500. Before my journey I also invested in a:

1) 45 + 10 litre Venture Deuter Backpack

2) Flights into the foreign by Pico Iyer, AA Gill is Away by AA Gill and Woe is I English Grammar (Along the way, I also accumulated more books and sold some)

3) Full toiletry set, floss, tiger balm and insect repellent

4) Cheap flip flops (the second time when I returned home, I took along my Nike trainers and a simple pair of heels)

5) A nifty black daypack with tonnes of pockets

6) A new passport

7) More undergarments

After the short stint around Malaysia, I travelled into Thailand (for numerous times) and then Cambodia and then back to Thailand. I’ll eventually head to Laos and Vietnam and probably China. However, I may still consider going into Europe. I’ve still got a one-way ticket to Amsterdam that I cannot use, unless I purchase the return as well.

The trip so far:

THAILAND: Mae Sot, Mae Sariang, Chiang Mai, Bangkok, Kanchanaburi, Ko Pha Ngan, Ranong, Ko Chang, Had Yai, Songkhla, Surat thani

CAMBODIA: Poipet, Siam Reap, Phnom Penh, Sihanoukville

In my next few posts, I’d provide highlights of some of the places that I’ve visited. There’s much to update but I’ll try my best to pick the juiciest tales and write about them while I’d let the rest lie.

A while ago, before I set off on my big trip, I was forced to say goodbye to Matt Faccenda. It was a solitary grief that I had to bear on my own. It was extremely difficult to put a final seal to our amazing friendship; despite the time we spent with each other was short. It all added up to a week or two in Kuala Lumpur, another week in Penang and a few days in Malacca. During that time, we talked ourselves silly, laughed like no tomorrow, had loads of fun and shared many great moments together.

It took CouchSurfing to bring us together and we just clicked, upon knowing each other. Conversations just rolled off our tongues, our presence gelled well and circumstances led us to form a wonderful friendship.

Who knows, I may meet Matt in Cambodia, before he jet sets back to Philadelphia.

Take care Matt and much metta to you!

“Sorry Ying. I know you really want to shoot off now, but I can’t. I don’t have the cash yet,” says Ed, a potential travel partner. “Just wait for one more month and we can go together. Ying-you know how I feel about this entire trip, right? I really wanted to go. I thought my Europe Escapade or the China Chronicles is the finale to everything, but here you are, suggesting that you should leap head first into the teaching English market that has been long dominated by the mat salleh. So if you can do it, I can do it too. Let’s do it together, Ying. I really don’t want to travel alone this time.”

I met Zaed or Ed as he’s affectionately known, through CouchSurfing. Destiny concoted our first meet through one of my best buddies (co-incidentally, met through CouchSurfing too!)KC. KC dragged me to a buka puasa party–also organised by a CSer–and told me that I’d meet many like-minded. He then eagerly added that Ed will be there.

“You’ll like him, Ying. He’s as crazy as you are when it comes to traveling.” KC mused.

I tried to feel offended but only anticipation filled my mind. I was anxious to meet my equal.

So it turned out that Ed, was not only as crazy as I am but even crazier. He took a year off from his degreee to travel Europe-with only less than RM3000. As we exchanged stories and tried to outwit each other in whose adventure is better than who,, how el-cheapo one can get while travelling, we became fast friends.

Now, an architect intern and a caged traveler, Ed pleads earnestly.

I don’t usually travel with someone from the beginning to the end of the trip as I like to stay flexible, be social and allow the winds to navigate my ship instead of having to steer it on my own.

But I look into his eyes and I see his urgent need for freedom–like as if I am to disagree with the plan, he will slowly first wither away into nothingness and then morph into an urban cynic. I see his soul bared and vulnerable, his spirit indomitable and passionate.

“Alright buddy. I’ll be doing a slow overland journey into Hanoi…Be prepared.”

If you have to know: The entry is semi-fictious. It was just me and my drama.
Ed didn’t beg me to take him with me but he did volunteer his company and time. And after the party, we became close friends…he didn’t have to beg, I invited him along.

Here’s a farewell note that I’m about to send, announcing my journey and my renunciation of a secure life:

Dearest Friends,

As you know, I have been wanting to do everything but settle down. I’ve been restless, at the peak of unease; consistently wanting to scratch the itch of wanderlust but never quite got around to do so. People tell me to stay in touch with reality and I did-by having a full time job, a miserable time and of course, financial security. Indeed, I was happy and everyone else around me was too. They thought- ah, finally little Ying has seen the light. She’s now a working young lady with a briefcase, a pair of high-heels and a dosage of overtime hours to match.

However, the call to board flights into the foreign remained insistent. “The beauty of any flight, after all, is that, as soon as we leave the ground, we leave a sense of who we are behind.” Well said, Mr. Iyer. “It is when we we rise and rise through the clouds, into a blue stillness, and the very ‘we’ and ‘I’ that seemed so urgent when we awoke become as remote, as hard to take seriously, as that house far, far below, now invisible. ”
In that sense, travelling is not about escaping reality but rather about losing your ego of who you are and who you were. It is about opening up a dam of alternative realities. It puts every facet of life on a supermarket shelf, and you as a consumer, can choose.

After a good friend that I met over CouchSurfing cajoled me to get off my comfort couch and stand on my toes to look forward, into the horizon of endless possibilities, that I finally decided to take my dreams one step further: I quit my job. All it took for him was to quote what I wrote in my travel feature article: “Dreams have an expiry date. The passion fuel only runs for a limited time” and the rest was history.

But of course, I relied on divine intervention as well while making my decision. I came out of McDonald’s one day, and there, under the afternoon sun, was a motorcycle parked and a sticker on it, shouting “GO!!!!!!”. It was utterly stark and abrupt but it shone its meaning clearly.

Two months later, and in a couple of days, it will be time for me to stumble into the foreign, to grope around a little bit in the shadows, to confront the unknown and perhaps find myself during amidst those solitary moments. I will be making an overland journey to Thailand, Cambodia, Laos and eventually settling in Hanoi, Vietnam to pad the wallet. And then hopefully, onwards to Europe to secure a Masters and eventually living there? I don’t know. As the documentary The Secret advised:If you are going to drive from point A to B in the middle of the night, all you need to see is 200 metres ahead of you. Eventually, you will arrive at your destination.

With that, I bid everyone goodbye…not forever, but for the temporary absence.

Wait-you splutter-what about your golden future, your career? Are you just going to throw it all away?

In answer to that, here are several quotes from the famous George Monbiot, a UK journalist who is highly regarded within the media arena.

“How many times have I heard students about to start work for a corporation claim that they will spend just two or three years earning the money they need, then leave and pursue the career of their choice? How many times have I caught up with those people several years later, to discover that they have acquired a lifestyle, a car and a mortgage to match their salary, and that their initial ideals have faded to the haziest of memories, which they now dismiss as a post-adolescent fantasy? How many times have I watched free people give up their freedom?

So my second piece of career advice echoes the political advice offered by Benjamin Franklin: whenever you are faced with a choice between liberty and security, choose liberty. Otherwise you will end up with neither. People who sell their souls for the promise of a secure job and a secure salary are spat out as soon as they become dispensable. The more loyal to an institution you are, the more exploitable, and ultimately expendable, you become.”

“So my final piece of advice is this: when faced with the choice between engaging with reality or engaging with what Erich Fromm calls the “necrophiliac” world of wealth and power, choose life, whatever the apparent costs may be. Your peers might at first look down on you: poor Nina, she’s twenty-six and she still doesn’t own a car. But those who have put wealth and power above life are living in the world of death, in which the living put their tombstones – their framed certificates signifying acceptance to that world – upon their walls. Remember that even the editor of the Times, for all his income and prestige, is still a functionary, who must still take orders from his boss. He has less freedom than we do, and being the editor of the Times is as good as it gets.

You know you have only one life. You know it is a precious, extraordinary, unrepeatable thing: the product of billions of years of serendipity and evolution. So why waste it by handing it over to the living dead?”

Read Choose Life by George Monbiot for full blown inspiration.

Take care, stay in touch and amuse yourself visually at www.kherying.multiply.com while I set up a travelogue.

A big thank you too for your friendship and support over the years….without each and everyone of you, I wouldn’t be who I am today! Please stay in touch okay?

Very warmly,
Ying

PS-Please send me your home addresses and mobile phone numbers. If you’re lucky, you may receive a postcard or two!
If you have to know: Originally, this blog was meant to be named: Stories for The Squidman, as it was good old Steve-o who kicked my ass and told me that I should be the one going for my dreams instead of encouraging someone else to do so. He was my personal cheerleader, my walking info kiosk and above all, a wonderful friend. He introduced me to contacts in Thailand, Vietnam, Brazil and Italy. He kept adding fuel whenever the fire of traveling dims; he cajoled; he chatised; he inspired. In the end, if it was not for him, I wouldn’t have thought that working and traveling is possible.