When I took the first leap, the first sure way to escape, the first path that lead me from the old to the new, as long as I had my backpack, I was invincible. I had no name for my backpack but it was a dark blue one with gray straps, and stitched in white it’s brand, DEUTER, a sturdy German label that assures comfort, longevity and hardiness. It was a name that stood against time and nature.

It was my most expensive investment before I left home and took that 24-hour rickety sleeper train to Bangkok from Butterworth, the first point of my journey. It probably cost about RM380 which with the passing of time makes my memory less accurate on it but nonetheless, I remember, it was a worthy investment.

Ed and I, in all our eagerness to leave our lives as corporate slaves and namely, our city, the good old polluted Kuala Lumpur, had went to Pertama Complex with Steffert, the Dutch CouchSurfer that we were hosting at that time, to look at backpacks. It so happened that Steffert also needed a new backpack. The trio headed there and within 15 minutes of haggling with an aggressive old Chinese lady, we managed to get at least 40% off the original prices. After all, Malaysians hadn’t got the hang of the culture of backpacking yet and they needed to make some money-3 expensive backpacks off the racks within the week must be pretty good business.

I remember leaving the shopping complex, beaming and dreaming of all the adventures that I could have with that backpack of mine. It was a 45+10 Litres, with a lot of extra space for shoes and dirty laundry. I even attached a silver and blue teddy bear luggage tag to it, thus personalizing it.

Over the years, the backpack had served me well. I had never washed it so it continued to wear the stains of spilled shampoo, the muddy streaks of dirty hiking sneakers, stains of tar, grime and dirt yet I still love it. It’s mine, it’s my home and now, it finally has some sort of character to it. When I load the backpack onto my shoulders, it towers over me, but the weight never wore me down. The hip straps balanced the weight properly and so even if people couldn’t see the top of my head from the back, they could see that the person carrying the backpack walked in perfect straight lines.

The backpack has been and seen places-it has been put on the cigarette littered train floorboards of the creaking Bulgarian trains, tied to the top of the roof of the Vietnamese busses, placed in between sacks of rice and random poultry animals, in between my unwashed knees and below the feet of my travel companions, from cruise ships to the back of motorcycles, from obscure bus stations to airports…everywhere.

It never tore, the zips always opened and my things were always safe-unlocked. In there, I could fit a hair-dryer, 6 different pairs of shoes, dresses, an umbrella, a sleeping bag, under garments, you name it.

It was my anchor, the only thing that I had constantly despite my transient existence.

You could only imagine my grief and anguish, the feeling that I could akin to losing a loved one, when the staff of a domestic Indonesian Airlines lost my backpack. At first, it seemed like it was misplaced and there was still hope. After all, I always got my backpack back, even if it went missing in Paris, Rome, Guadeloupe, Venice and Doha. It always turned up, like the rising sun.

However, as days slip into weeks and now months, hope has melted away. I had to accept the fact that I’ll never see my best friend-ever again.

I went to purchase a new one, from the same shop that sold my old one. The old Chinese lady was still there, still willful to make a bargain. Everything felt the same, the experience of haggling and everything, except this time, I looked at the Deuter red and grey backpack and thought, no, it is just not the same.

Nothing will ever be the same again.

Wherever you are now, my Blue and Grey Deuter Backpack, may you continue to see things and go places.

Ultimately, we all reach a certain point in our lives where we’d stop for a bit, ruminate about the future, reflect on the past and then, choose the best route for the present. This year is THAT year, where every decision has to be made with a lot of care and precision, because once made, a new set of possibilities will follow, whether I like it or not, and I’ve to live them all until another fork in the road of life appears again.

I must admit, I have really lived it up. I’ve seen plenty of places, done many things, experienced what it was like to be poor and rich, let wanderlust run its course and have literally covered from the skies to the seas. I don’t regret the experiences, not for even an iota. In fact, I’m grateful for them for they have strengthened my spirit and made me grow up. I’ve learnt to see my own weaknesses and strengths during times of solitude and hardships. I’m always surprised to discover my capacity to endure and go on, despite perpetual blows and rejection. I’ve learnt the value of money, independence and love, and to peel away the layers of ignorance and illusion.

But then, what now?

Many travelers and couchsurfers that I’ve met, upon finishing their life-altering journeys, are often found back in their countries, doing the same things that they’ve always been doing, be it that corporate job that they’ve given up right after they sold properties and reduced their lives to a backpack, or to pursue another qualification, to get married and have kids, etc. Does that mean that other than accumulating perspectives and worldly wisdom, we don’t actually change much? Is long-term traveling over-rated then?

I haven’t been able to sleep or eat much these days.

Accepting invites for dinners or to catch a movie is simply my way of distracting myself and keeping my sanity intact. I watch PrisonBreak series from Season 1-3, back to back, just so that my brains and senses get numb from sensory overload, just so that I get too tired to think about anything else because three days away from now, my life hangs on this bloody visa that I am applying for. You might think that a judgment day calls if I’m actually attempting the green card but this lowly regarded visa, by other nationalities, abused and used so often by backpackers from ‘developed countries’ has been eluding Malaysians ever since it’s been introduced: the Working Holidaymaker Visa, guaranteed to scare the shit out of aspiring Malaysian travellers.

I have been tenaciously following forums pertaining the application of this visa, and seems like, chances of getting it are 50% 50%. If you’re lucky, your application gets through without a hitch and you’ll get your visa within 2 working days after you submit your application. If not, they’d call you up for an interview, assume themselves God, interrogate and reduce you to tears if you let them, and then decide whether they want to approve or reject your application, based on your performance and on their whim. Some of the Entry Clearance Officers (GOD) has been reported to be easy-going and some, pretty hostile and look at you like you’re the lowest scum on the earth, trying to get a break in UK. Oh, give me a break!

It’s really not fair, considering that the world’s travelling community is largely made up of backpackers, anarchists, hippies and the like-and frankly speaking, those people you see, hanging out on the streets, filthy like vermin, remarkably stoned and delirious, penniless and squatting away at some rotting corner of Prague or Bangkok, are really not the Malaysians. The dreadlocks, the new age believes, the one-way tickets, not the Malaysians. The ones who do visa runs from Thailand, the ones who believe that they don’t need much to live in the paradise of Ko Phangan, are not Malaysians. Malaysian travellers, are affluent, elite and even though cliquish, are typically concerned with careers and money. And so, such opportunity arises for a visa, these people produce at least RM30-60K in their accounts, just so that they can ‘backpack’ UK. This is ridiculous, making us go through these interviews and trying to mock our ability to survive, when these stressed out Malaysians, wanting a break from their suits and society’s status quo, are rejected and kicked back to their stone cold office environment, just because they don’t speak English that well, or that they don’t have an instinctive Lonely Planet mind that help them plan the perfect backpacking itinerary. But how many ‘savvy’ backpackers you’ve seen, speaks great English? Ever talked to the French, Italians and South Americans? And who needs planning anyway? The idea is to just go and live it up, and whether you survive or you don’t, makes you a better and tougher person.

How do they expect to make us travellers when only the ones who can spout money from out of nowhere are eligible for this visa? It’s no wonder why we, Malaysians, are so out of practice and disconnected from the exciting world of wanderlust-where doors of possibilities are waiting to be opened.

Here are the forums if you’re interested in the 2 year working holiday maker visa, and wish me luck on Wednesday.

P.S-Marc buddy of mine from Toronto said:

“Yingie,

both times my life depended on a visa, (once for France, once for Italy), I had problems – but in the end, through patience and perseverance, I finally got it. There is a way, you just have to suck up and do what they say. And if they say “we’re sorry, we simply can’t issue a visa.”… don’t despair and don’t give up. You’ll think of something.”

Novice monks in Vang Vieng, Laos

During my hiatus, my travels took me from Vientiane into Vang Vieng, Laos, and then onwards to Hanoi, Vietnam. While working on some post-Hanoi entries, let this little excerpt from my journal amuse you:

“I lie dejectedly at the little shoe box room of mine in Vang Vieng, Laos, while scratching my arms at a rhythmic pace ; it must be the flea-infested blanket or the stained bedsheets. But gratitude I must feel, to have at least a roof over my head as the sovereign sun shines haughtily over the limestone hills and the Nam Song river; it’s after all it’s merely USD 4 for a room with a double bed and an en-suite bathroom with hot shower. It is not that I’m running out of cash but I still can’t put a finger to my crummy mood. The curtains flutter into my face and I hear snatches of conversation, each word spoken with a British accent. I hear laughter, and another voice-a French perhaps? I wish I am an active participant of the conversation but at the same time, I wish I’m not-I’ve ran out of clever things to say. I no longer excel at small talk, at those little initiatives that solo backpackers have to attempt so that we won’t end up sitting in a bar alone, watching Arsenal play Chelsea while the rest of the travellers have an audience to chatter away animatedly to. I try to put faces to the ones currently talking: one’s probably a big-boned surfer dude in a Ripcurl cap, a stripped tank top and a light blue board shorts while the other’s probably a scruffy dread locked hippie who chooses to adorn oneself with tribal ornaments and light, linen attire. I try to conjure an image of myself in the group; I imagine my backpack, my army green flip-flops and my woven anklet around my right heel. That’s me- a solo-female Malaysian backpacker, roughing out in one of the poorest countries in the world. It seemed like an image of my dreams a few months ago yet this time, I recoil at it. I think about my friends spending their time now in a freezing office, hunching their backs in front of computer screens or slapping a 20 Ringgit bill on a Starbucks counter for an undeserving Green Tea frappucino – that is my world, and I miss that. I survey my surroundings now and feel like a fake. My self-induced poverty is laughable, my dreams all of a sudden crumble into worthless pieces. Suddenly everything is so futile and so silly.

Despite all my unbridled enthusiasm about being an intrepid explorer, I’m now exhausted. Almost three months have passed and I’m still on the road, feeling as worthless as a bum, and as aimless as a wanderer. What is it that I hope to find? Will witnessing poverty in Bung Kan, Thailand or Poipet, Cambodia fill me up with insights of life? Will living out of the suitcase truly fulfill me? “

Here’s also a prelude to one of my Hanoi entries. I wrote this email to Matt, in moments of distress. I was already in Hanoi then; it was probably Week 2 in Hanoi when it was written.

On our way to Mai Chau village, Vietnam

Dearest Matt,
I’m so happy that you’re now settled. Moving into a new apartment must be exciting. Taking time to decide what should go on your walls and or your shelves are one of the activities that I wish doing, NOW. I know I looked really happy in the pictures that I sent you and I was, but those sort of fun and laughter doesn’t last very long. My dorm mates were really cool, and I’ve met the nicest people along the way, but after three days of drinking, talking shit and being sociable-I’m now exhausted.
I can’t go on like that everyday. There is no intellectual, spiritual or emotional fulfilment. I was struggling for quite a while, to come to terms with my wanderings and not knowing which path to take. Even Guillome, the French guy, shares similar feelings. We both felt so unproductive; waking up everyday and wait for the day to end.
For the longest period of time, I felt very lost. Again, I am at crossroads. I was deluded to think that I could make something happen in Hanoi. I went for one interview and sent in some resumes here and there, but eventually I realised that my lack of motivation wasn’t because of the jobs available but rather, I couldn’t accept the fact that Hanoi would be the place that I’d like to settle for a couple of months. I don’t know what Ed told you, but Ed doesn’t like this place either. Hanoi can be charming with its culture and architecture but the people are aggressive and rude, and the blare of honks just never stop. There is so much noise and activity and pollution. And you understanding me well, knows that the last kind of place that I’d like to settle in!!!!!!! I can’t even bring myself to say thank you in Vietnamese. In so many ways, I feel like a estranged from the culture. I can never feel like a local here-maybe becauseI I dislike them. Remember how it was in Penang, where everyone’s smiling and friendly? Well, it doesn’t happen here.
So Ed and I sat down one day, across the lake, with cheap baguettes in our hands, tried to sort things out together. Even though we’re both different in so many ways, he understood my needs and my dreams. And most importantly, he knew the perimeters within me, that was set up by the culture that we were brought up in. First of all, we discussed what route I should take because I told him, even though I’d get a job in Hanoi, I don’t really fancy seeing myself here. Yet I’m running out of money and I need to do something! But at the same time, I’m so unproductive. I’ve been so unproductive really…it was quite aimless, traversing South East Asia without really having the intention to travel. I want to settle somewhere, but where? Ed said that the reason why I still feel so lost is because my heart was set in Europe all along. My whole SEA travels is pure bullshit, a distraction. I’ve wanted to go to Italy all these while, but because I let the risks deter me. I wanted to go to Europe, safe and secured, knowing that I have wads of fat cash in my pocket. Now I know that if I really want to go for my dreams, I really have to work for it. No one’s just going to hand to me the things I want-be it job, money or accomodation. There’s really no short cut or safe way to go about getting what we want. If I really want to be in Italy that badly, then I just have to roll the dice and take the plunge. And by just being there, it will just open another gate of possibilities. I guess there isn’t any way easy way out of this entire thing.
Also, I lack of faith in myself and my dreams, Ed said. In his wisest voice, he said that the reason why I don’t have a focus is that I’ve always tried to please everyone. He said I should stop thinking and stop asking people for their opinions. I just have to have faith in myself or rather in the things that I want to achieve. Who cares if it’s silly or unrealistic or close to impossible? Who’s to say what’s impossible and what’s not. And I just have to swallow my pride if others are going to laugh or belittle me, because at the end of the day, these are the people that I don’t need.
So after the talk, I sat and listened to the voices that I’ve repressed. It says that I want to be in Italy. I want to live in Italy. I want to be speaking Italian. Then something changes in me. Slowly but surely, I started to believe that that’s what I wanted to do. I wrote to Steve, the guy that initially set me out on this path, but got a reply that wasn’t a positive yes yet not very encouraging either. But funnily, for someone who has always listened to the voices of the others, I started to listen to myself. And that email didn’t bother me that much. I didn’t require that sort of affirmation from him anymore. Also in that email, I was asking whether I could borrow some money just in case I truly run out of it. After all, he offered before. But his reply was not a resounding yes but rather yes, I’d be willing to help, but. It doesn’t sound too promising but somehow, this time round, I didn’t feel that worried either. If Ed can survive in Europe for less than 30 Euros in hand, then maybe I can too.
So I guess my mind is pretty made up now. I don’t know what to expect or what will happen, but I do know that I will run out of money within the first week that I’d get to Europe. I’ve only bout 200 dollars left. That’s all. I’ve to rely on my faith and my desperation to get myself a job. I know that I’ll have a bloody tough time but I know I’d be able to rough it out. I sound crazy don’t I?
Yes, if only I can turn back time and go back to those times when you were in Malaysia. You know what, the explore the school thing was also the highlight for me!!!! It was one of the moments where we connected at such a level that even saving frogs and exploring ruins could amuse us.
And oh, Matt-recently I wrote to the editor of Bangkok Trader and proposed some stories of my recent travels to him. He responded with such enthusiasm that I feel almost faint reading his email. He said “don’t tease us with such leads, just give us the stories!” Anyway, I’d be hearing from him a few days time (he’s probably still on his way back to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.) Anyway, if I could write up at least one or two of those stories, I’d be able to earn a couple more dollars. Isn’t that just amazing! Things are falling into place, I think.

Matt, if only I don’t have the one-way ticket to Europe, I’d have flew to US. Really. I’m bent on seeing you again, so yes, I can promise you that eventually I’d be there. I have been thinking bout doing graduate school in US. We’ll see how things work out in Europe. If I do manage to settle down in Europe for a while, please visit me will you? And meanwhile, your name has always escape my lips when I regale my tales of travels to the people I meet along the way. It’s always Matt this and that….hehehe!! Same goes for Ed too I think!
Matt, we’ve really missed you. We really want to see you again. I promise, we’d meet soon.
I really hope to hear from you soon. I want you to tell me what you think of my crazy Europe plan this time. Any advice or tips will be appreciated-but even if you ask me not to, I’d still go.

Much much love,
Ying