SOLO In Vietnam Day 22 : The Roasted Pork & The Row 1 Crush

08th jan 2026

Finally, I am at the end of my Solo Vietnam Trip. Physically, I am heading back. But mentally? I am refusing to clock in just yet. My "nightmare"—my routine, the work, the alarm clocks—doesn't start until next Monday. I have a few precious days of grace left, a buffer zone between the adventurer I was and the worker I have to be again.

But before I left Da Nang, the Cordial Grand Hotel gave me one last reason to smile. I walked into the breakfast hall at 7:30 AM, expecting the usual. Instead, I saw it. Roasted Pork. My God. My favorite food in the world, glistening under the buffet lights. There were no mangoes today, only passion fruit, watermelon, and guava. But I didn't care. I piled my plate high with roasted pork and passion fruit—a luxury combination that is rare in Malaysian hotels. I feasted from 7:30 to 8:00 AM. It was the perfect culinary goodbye.

I checked out at 8:10 AM. The Grab arrived on schedule. The road to the airport was smooth. And then, the universe decided to test my heart one last time.

The Airport Crush I was queuing to check in my luggage when I saw a woman ahead of me get her backpack strap tangled in the lane divider rope. I stepped in spontaneously to help her untangle it. As I turned back, looking up from my good deed, I saw him. Standing right behind me in the queue was a young man. Tall. Handsome. The kind of good-looking that makes your brain short-circuit. I had been focused on watching a cooking show on my phone, but suddenly, the food didn't matter. My heart screamed: “Oh my Lord.” My mouth screamed: [Silence]. I wanted to say hi. I wanted to be the cool, confident traveler. But my mouth shut itself tight.

I went through immigration, sat at the gate, and looked up. He sat next to me. The universe was practically shoving us together. I felt heavy with shyness. We sat side-by-side, two strangers staring at our phones, scrolling through nothing just to pass the time. How I wish our phones could talk to each other. “Hey, my owner thinks your owner is cute. Exchange Instagrams?” But the air remained silent.

Row 1 vs. Row 22 We stood in line to board. He was right in front of me. I glanced at his boarding pass—a little invasion of privacy, I know, but I couldn't help it. ANOU / TOMMY. Tommy. Even his name made my soul do a little jump. I felt young again, flushed with a crush. I prayed to the travel gods: Please let him be in seat 22B. But reality is not a K-Drama. He turned left into Business Class—Row 1E. I walked past him, heading back to Economy—Row 22C. We were separated by 21 rows and a curtain. But as I walked past his seat, our eyes locked. I smiled. He smiled back. That was it. No words. Just a smile that said, “I saw you too.”

I spent the flight thinking about him. I concocted a wild plan: Write a note on a napkin and ask the stewardess to deliver it to Row 1E. But I didn't do it. We are both introverts, perhaps? Or maybe I was just scared to break the magic. The plane landed at KLIA. The curtain opened. The crowd surged. I looked for him in the terminal, but KLIA is a beast. He was gone. Our goodbye ended before we ever said hello.

The Buffer Zone I am back in my home country. I am spending the night at a friend's house in Cyberjaya before flying back to Kuching tomorrow. My friend asked me the big question: "Were you happy during your trip?"

I paused. I couldn't lie and say, "Yes, I was happy 100% of the time." Solo travel isn't a continuous high. There were moments of loneliness. There were moments I craved a real connection—like today at the airport with Tommy. There were moments I felt small. But was it worth it? Yes.

---

Final Reflection: The Imperfect Perfection

This trip wasn't perfect. I got sick. I got ripped off (briefly). I felt awkward in groups. I lost half my medicine. I didn't send the note to the handsome stranger in Row 1E.

But perfection was never the goal. Growth was. I learned that I am resilient enough to walk in the rain without an umbrella. I learned that I am brave enough to eat alone in a room full of couples. I learned that I can navigate a foreign country, handle my finances (even when over budget), and camouflage myself as a local.

The nightmare of routine waits for me on Monday. But for now, I have a few days to breathe. I am returning to Kuching tomorrow, not as the same woman who left 22 days ago, but as a woman who knows that even if she doesn't get the guy, she will always have the roasted pork, the memories, and the strength of her own two legs.

Vietnam, thank you. Mea, welcome home. (But not back to work... yet).

SOLO In Vietnam Day 21 : Bacon, Ninjas, and the Art of Doing Nothing

07 Jan 2026

If yesterday was the Mango Chapter, today was the Meat Chapter.

I dragged my body out of bed at 8:55 AM—literally five minutes before the buffet closed. My "Best Friend from Japan" (the period) was hitting hard today, making my limbs feel like lead. But hunger is a powerful motivator, and I had a mission.

I walked into the dining hall and saw it: Bacon.

You have to understand—in Malaysian hotels, finding pork on the buffet line is like finding a unicorn. Here? It was a festival.

I bypassed the noodles. I ignored the rice. I ghosted the bread.

My plate was a monochrome masterpiece of pork, pork, and more pork. Bacon, pork skin, pasta with ham. It was a carnivore’s goodbye to Vietnam.

The Ninja Staff: Part Two

And then, déjà vu.

I left my table for two minutes to get a second round of bacon. When I returned, my table was bare.

They did it again.

The Ninja Staff had struck, clearing my plate, my cutlery, and my dignity.

But unlike yesterday, I didn't freeze. I didn't frown. I looked around the empty hall—it was just me and a handsome European guy with earplugs, lost in his own world.

I realized the staff weren't being rude; they were just rushing to clean up so they could eat their own breakfast before their shift ended.

I walked over to the buffet and saw the leftover fruit. I knew it was destined for the trash, so I decided to intervene.

"Can you pack this for me?" I asked, pointing to the watermelon and mango.

They smiled and helped me box it up. The Ninjas became my allies. I walked back to my room with a stash of fruit, saving the food from the bin and saving myself from hunger later.

Memoir vs. Diary

The rest of the day was spent in horizontal mode.

My stomach was cramping too much for walking or exploring. My mind drifted to a coffee workshop I wanted to attend, but my uterus said, "Absolutely not. We are staying in bed."

So, I listened.

I spent hours typing, debating with myself: What is this thing I am writing? Is it a blog? Is it a diary? Is it a memoir? I’m not a professional writer.

But then I realized: It doesn't matter.

I am writing this for me. I am writing so that when I am 80 years old and my memory fades, I can read Day 21 and remember the taste of the bacon and the sound of the rain. It is for safe-keeping. Whether people read it or not is secondary. The act of documenting is the reward.

The Last Supper: Instant Edition

By evening, the rain had returned.

It was my last night in Vietnam. I remembered the mini-mart hopping from two days ago and the specific craving I had filed away.

I put on my umbrella and braved the rain to the nearest Circle K.

My mission: Pork (Heo) Instant Noodles and a Sausage.

I brought the loot back to the room. I boiled the water. I waited the holy three minutes.

It was... another level.

The broth was rich, the sausage actually snapped when I bit it, and the noodles had a texture we just don't get back home. It wasn't a fancy farewell dinner, but curled up in bed with the rain tapping against the window, it was perfect.

I packed my bags. I rescheduled my Grab for 8:30 AM tomorrow.

The trip is done. The medicine box is lighter. The blog is fuller. And I am ready to go home.

Reflection: Writing for the Future Self

Today I struggled with the definition of "writer." I thought I needed a label—blogger, author, influencer—to justify the time I’m spending on this laptop.

But today taught me that memory is a currency.

We take photos to capture how things looked, but we write to capture how things felt.

The photos will show the Dragon Bridge, but only these words will remind me of the "Ninja Staff," the "Best Friend from Japan," and the confusion of the "Fake Son."

I learned that you don't need an audience to create art. You just need to be honest. This memoir isn't for the world; it's a love letter to my future self, reminding her that once, she was brave enough to travel solo, eat alone, and find joy in a cup of instant noodles.

Date: January 7, 2026 Location: Da Nang Mood: Heavy body, light heart, full stomach.

SOLO in Vietnam Day 20 : The Mango Manisfestation and The Red Alert

06 Jan 2026

I made a vow to eat like a Queen for these last few days, and apparently, the universe is listening.

Yesterday, during my "Mini-Mart Hop," I was craving a mango. I didn't buy one, hoping the hotel breakfast would provide. And bam. Mangoes. Manifestation is real, and apparently, it works best for tropical fruit.

But the morning took a chaotic turn.

I stood up to get a refill of my coffee, leaving my half-eaten yogurt and my precious mango on the table. When I returned, the table was bare. The staff, efficient to a fault, had cleared everything.

I stood there, frowning at the empty space where my joy used to be.

The staff panic-read my face. They rushed to the kitchen and returned not with a slice, but with a whole mango. Redemption. I sat back down, the last guest in the dining hall, savoring my victory.

But as I watched the staff hurriedly eat their own breakfast and scrape mountains of leftover food into the bin, my mood shifted. It’s a policy, I know. But seeing perfectly good food go to waste twisted something in my gut. It was a sharp reminder of the excess we live in as travelers, while the locals rush to finish a meal before their next shift starts.

The "Guest" Arrives

My mind was clear, but my stomach started to knot. Then I realized why.

My "Best Friend from Japan" had arrived. (That’s code for: I am on my period.)

Suddenly, the low battery, the body aches, and the "lazy" feelings of the last few days made perfect sense. I wasn't being lazy; I was pre-menstrual.

Thank God I listened to my body and didn't book that day trip to Hue or the coffee workshop. My body becomes a total baby when this happens. I went to the pharmacy to restock supplies, grateful that I had chosen rest over ambition. This is the art of travel: knowing when to push and when to pause.

The WhatsApp War

I retreated to the rooftop to blog. The sky was gloomy—sun hidden, clouds heavy—which matched my mood perfectly.

Why? Because my phone buzzed with negativity.

People in a WhatsApp group back home were throwing passive-aggressive jabs at me.

Seriously? The hell with that.

I am in Vietnam. I am traveling solo. I am living my dream. And yet, I let their petty words ruin the view.

But this year, I don't just take it. I clapped back. I posted a strict status update, tagging the energy directly. Don't come for me when I'm on my period. I exhaled. I needed my positive energy back. I needed to protect my peace as fiercely as I protected that mango.

The Timeless Traveler

In the evening, I sought comfort in the usual place: the bottom of a Salted Coffee cup.

A local man, a travel agent, approached me and started speaking rapid-fire Vietnamese.

"I am not Vietnamese," I said, for the third time this week.

He laughed. "You look local!" We chatted for a while, and he tried to guess my age. He squinted, calculated, and then gave up. "I cannot tell," he admitted.

I laughed. Do I look old? Do I look young? Or do I just look like a traveler—timeless, tired, and happy all at once? Maybe I should act more like a child to keep them guessing. Or maybe, the ambiguity is a compliment. I fit everywhere, and I fit nowhere.

Reflection: The Art of Listening

Today was a masterclass in listening.

• Listening to the Body: I wanted to go to Hue, but my uterus said “No, sit down.” In the past, I would have pushed through and been miserable because I didn't want to "waste" a day. Today, I stayed put. That is growth.

• Listening to the Soul: The drama in the WhatsApp group was noise. I listened to my intuition, set a boundary, and moved on.

• Listening to the Universe: I asked for mangoes, and I received mangoes.

Life gets easier when you stop fighting the current and start listening to the water. Whether it’s physical pain or toxic friends, the body and the heart always know when to say "Stop." I learned today that protecting my peace is way more important than being polite.

Date: January 6, 2026 Location: Da Nang Mood: Hormonal, Defensive, but Fed.

SOLO in Vietnam Day 19 : The RM58 Emperor and the Museum of Snacks

5hb Jan 2025

There is a specific kind of thrill in feeling like you’re robbing a hotel—legally.

I woke up expecting a "sad Budget Hotel breakfast"—you know the kind: dry toast, questionable jam, and a banana that looks like it gave up on life three days ago.

Instead, I walked into a banquet fit for an emperor.

I stood in the dining hall of the Cordial Grand, plate in hand, doing the math. I paid RM58 (approx. $13 USD) for this room.

How?

The spread was insane. There were mountains of fresh passion fruit (which is liquid gold back home, but apparently grows like weeds here), creamy yogurts, and—to my absolute delight—pork skin dishes I haven’t seen in years.

I didn't just eat; I destroyed that buffet. I fueled up with the determination of a woman who knows a good deal when she sees one. If I accomplish nothing else today, I thought, at least I won breakfast.

The Crash

But while my stomach was cheering, the rest of my body was waving a white flag.

I wanted to go out. I wanted to conquer the Dragon Bridge again. But the adrenaline of the last 18 days finally crashed. My legs felt heavy, my head felt floaty, and my internal battery was blinking red.

So, I surrendered.

I spent the afternoon by the pool, not swimming, just sitting. I opened my laptop and looked at my blog. It’s messy. The grammar isn't perfect. The layout is simple.

But I realized: I don't care. This isn't for the Pulitzer Prize. This is for Future Me. It is proof that I was here, that I lived this, and that I ate all that passion fruit.

The Lie of the Weather App

By evening, cabin fever set in. The app said 22°C. Manageable, I thought. Pleasant, I thought.

I threw a jacket over my shorts and headed to the beach.

Mistake.

The wind off the East Sea doesn't just blow; it bites. Within minutes, my exposed knees turned into icicles. I walked along the shoreline, shivering but stubborn, refusing to turn back immediately because I had committed to the walk.

The beach was wide and sandy, but let’s be honest—it doesn't hold a candle to the beaches back home in Sabah. Sorry, Da Nang. You're pretty, but Borneo wins this round.

But the view wasn't about the sand; it was about the humans. I saw families building castles in the gale force winds. I saw couples fighting their hair for a selfie. And I saw the other solo walkers—hands deep in pockets, staring at the horizon. We are the "Silent Club." We nodded at each other, united by the cold.

The Mini-Mart Crawl

Too frozen to stay, I retreated. To warm up, I invented a game: The Mini-Mart Hop.

I stopped at every WinMart, Circle K, and local bodega I passed. I didn't need anything. I just wanted to look.

There is a strange comfort in foreign convenience stores. It is a "Museum of the Mundane." I browsed the weird soda flavors, the endless aisles of instant noodles, and the chips that don't exist in Malaysia. It was a small adventure, but it was enough.

I returned to my room, thawed out, and ready to sleep. I didn't climb a mountain today. I didn't see a temple. But I fed my body like a queen and gave it permission to rest.

Reflection: The "Zero Day"

In the hustle of travel, we often feel guilty if we aren't "doing" something. We think every day needs to be a highlight reel of temples, tours, and treks. We fear that resting is "wasting time."

Today taught me the value of the "Zero Day."

The day where the only thing you conquer is a plate of fruit.

My body forced me to slow down, and in that slowness, I found gratitude. I didn't need a grand adventure today; I just needed to be present. I am thankful for the opportunity to see the world, even if today, the world was just a windy beach and a shelf of potato chips.

Sometimes, the most important journey isn't to the top of a mountain; it's the journey back to yourself, when you finally give yourself permission to just be.

Date: January 5, 2026 Location: Da Nang Mood: Stomach Full, Battery Recharging.

SOLO in Vietnam Day 18 : The Imaginary Son, The Male Gaze, and The Dragon's Breath

 

04th Jan 2026

There is a special kind of embarrassment reserved for travelers who think they are communicating perfectly, only to realize they’ve been having a conversation with themselves.

I started my morning in Hoi An with a "Last Supper"—one final Salted Coffee and a Bacon Banh Mi. My private car to Da Nang arrived at 12:00 PM sharp.

For the hour-long drive, I was the perfect guest. I chatted with the driver, fully convinced he was the son of my homestay owner.

"Your mother is such a wonderful host," I told him. He nodded and smiled. "And congratulations on the newborn baby! How is the wife?" He nodded and smiled again.

I spent the ride praising his family, asking about his life, and feeling a deep connection. What a nice son, I thought.

We arrived at the Cordial Grand Hotel. As he unloaded my bags, he pulled out his phone, typed into Google Translate, and showed me the screen:

"I am not the son. I am just the driver she hired."

My jaw basically hit the pavement. I had spent an hour sending love to a stranger’s imaginary baby. Later, the real son sent me photos of the actual baby celebrating its first full moon. I looked at the pictures and laughed. Language barriers are tricky, but hey, at least the vibes were positive.

Little Korea and The Creepy Walk

Da Nang is not Hoi An. Hoi An is ancient yellow walls and lanterns; Da Nang is skyscrapers and... Hangul?

Walking through the streets, I was disoriented. Am I in Vietnam or Seoul? The sheer number of Korean signs and BBQ shops is overwhelming. It feels like "Little Korea" dropped into the tropics.

It was Sunday, so I made my pilgrimage to Da Nang Cathedral. As a Catholic, I always look for a church in a new city—it’s my way of checking in with the community.

The walk was 45 minutes, and the streets were eerily quiet. I usually feel safe, but today, the silence felt heavy. I noticed men—mostly older, in their 50s—staring. Not a friendly glance, but a linger. It gave me a chill down my spine.

This is the dark side of solo female travel. Your intuition sharpens into a blade. You learn to walk with purpose, to not make eye contact, to listen to the "danger" signal in your gut. I reached the church safely, but the walk was a reminder: You are alone here. Pay attention.

The Dragon and The Swedes

At night, the mood shifted from creepy to magical. I went to the famous Dragon Bridge. On weekends at 9:00 PM, the metal beast breathes fire and water.

I arrived 2.5 hours early. Was it stupid to stand in the cold wind for that long? Maybe. But I wanted the front row. I wanted to see the monster wake up.

And I wasn't alone. Standing next to me was a disgustingly cute couple from Sweden. They were so full of love it was contagious. We started talking, and suddenly, the long wait flew by. We exchanged Instagrams, and I found myself adding Sweden to my bucket list just because of their warm energy.

Then, the show began. The dragon roared. Fire blasted into the night sky, warming our frozen faces. Then came the water, spraying the screaming crowd. It was fantastic. It was silly, grand, and totally communal.

I took a Grab bike back to the hotel. The driver drove fast, weaving through traffic, and I felt that familiar rush. Trust the driver, I told myself. Even if he isn't who you think he is.

Reflection: The False and The Real

Today was a day of illusions. The driver wasn't the son. The streets weren't Korea, even if they looked like it. The dragon wasn't real, but the fire was hot.

But amidst all the confusion and the uncomfortable stares, the connection was real. I misunderstood the driver, but we still shared a smile. I felt unsafe on the walk, but I found sanctuary in the church. I stood in the cold with strangers, but I left with new friends.

Da Nang feels different—more solitary, colder, harder to read. But as I sleep tonight, I realize that even in a city of illusions, you can still find real magic if you are willing to wait 2.5 hours for it.

Date: January 4, 2026 Location: Da Nang (Cordial Grand Hotel) Mood: Confused, Cold, but Awed.

SOLO in Vietnam Day 17 : Aging - Budget Out - Shrank - Spiritual Tug of war - The Drunken Philosopher

03rd Jan 2026

At 8:00 AM, I sat down for a simple breakfast of bread, eggs, and coffee. But as I packed my bag for the day, I froze.

I held up my blister pack of medicine. The paracetamol? Half gone. The allergy pills? Half gone.

I stared at the foil wrappers. In my "real life," I rarely swallow pills. I pride myself on being the healthy one. But on this trip, medicine hasn't been a "just in case"—it has been a necessity.

It hit me hard: I am getting old.

I am dragging my body up mountains and through rainstorms like I am still a teenager, but my cells are definitely checking their watches. My spirit is young, but my knees are keeping score. I made a silent vow to the mirror: From now on, I have to take better care of this vessel. It’s the only one I’ve got.

The Walk of Shame (To the Money Changer)

The realization of mortality was followed by a check on reality. I walked to the money changer to exchange my stash of Malaysian Ringgit for VND.

Let me be clear: I am not broke. Abundance always flows to me (I hope). But my travel budget? That thing is bleeding out. My spending habits have followed me across the border like a bad ghost. Breaking into my emergency fund feels like a defeat, but I choose to see it as a blessing—at least I have the funds to break into. I am safe. God provides.

But the universe has a wicked sense of humor.

Moments after I exchanged my cash, desperate for a good deal, I walked past a street vendor.

Salted Coffee: 20,000 VND.

I froze. For days, I have been paying 40,000 or 50,000 VND. And here, on my very last day in Hoi An, I find the cheapest, most authentic cup in the city. I felt cheated, but mostly I felt the irony. The deal was always there; I just found it too late.

The Intellectual Gap

In the afternoon, I joined a sunset tour to Marble Mountain. Our guide, Thien, was excellent—sharp English, vivid storytelling. But the group dynamic was... heavy.

I was the only Asian. The rest were Europeans. As we climbed the caves, the conversation shifted from the scenery to the heavy stuff: The Vietnam War, global politics, religion, and the recent news about Trump. They were loud, opinionated, and articulate.

And me? I shrank.

I realized I know very little about global politics. While they debated, I just listened, terrified someone would ask for my opinion. I feel small, I thought. They weren't being mean; they were just educated and confident.

I felt the "Asian Awkwardness"—that instinct to stay quiet and not rock the boat. But deep down, I knew it wasn't just culture. It was a lack of knowledge. I sat there, resolving to upgrade myself. I want to be the woman who can stand in a circle of strangers and speak her mind without fear.

The Spiritual Test

We visited the Lady Buddha on Monkey Mountain (the monkeys were hiding, naturally). Thien told us she faces the sea to protect the fishermen. A symbol of safety.

But at Marble Mountain, my safety was tested.

We stood before a statue—a "Cupid" figure known for blessing love lives. Thien told the group: "If you want to find a partner, bow three times and pray."

My heart jumped. Yes, it whispered. I long for a partner.

I stepped forward, ready to bow.

But my soul pulled me back. I am Catholic. My loyalty belongs to Lord Christ Jesus and Mother Mary. I cannot bow to another god just because I am lonely.

It was a violent internal struggle. The desire for love against the fidelity of faith. The confusion gave me a literal headache. In the end, I stepped back. I walked away, breathing in the fresh air outside the cave. I chose my faith, but the ache of the un-bowed head lingered.

The Drunk French Lady

I escaped the pressure cooker and went for a quiet dinner near my homestay. I was sitting alone when a French lady wobbled over and joined my table.

She was intoxicated—eyes glassy, smile loose—but coherent. We talked over food. She didn't talk about Trump. She didn't ask me to bow to statues. She just talked about life in broken English.

It was messy, it was random, and it was exactly what I needed. After feeling "not smart enough" on the tour and "not faithful enough" on the mountain, it was nice to just be "human enough" with a tipsy stranger.

I am packing tonight. Hoi An is done. The medicine is half empty. But my spirit is full of lessons.

Reflection: The Gaps

Travel exposes your gaps.

• It exposed the gap in my physical stamina (the pills).

• It exposed the gap in my intellectual confidence (the politics).

• It exposed the gap in my heart (the longing for a partner).

Today was uncomfortable. I felt old, I felt uneducated, and I felt spiritually conflicted. But discomfort is just the sound of growing pains.

I am leaving Hoi An with a new list of goals. I need to take care of my body. I need to read more history so I can speak up. And I need to trust that God has a plan for my love life that doesn't involve bowing to statues in a cave.

I am not broke; I am investing in a newer version of myself.

Date: January 3, 2026 Location: Hoi An Mood: Growing Pains.

SOLO in Vetnam Day 16 : The Graveyard of Drafts and The Art Of Dissapearing

02nd Jan 2026

The coffee at The Cherry Garden was strong. Which was good, because I had a ghost to fight.

I opened my laptop and stared at a digital graveyard. I created this blog in 2011. That is 14 years ago. For over a decade, this space has been a collection of good intentions and half-written stories. My life has been sitting in the "Drafts" folder, hidden away because I was too busy, too lazy, or mostly just scared that it wasn't "perfect" enough to show the world.

But 15 days of solo travel changes you. It makes you brave.

I decided today that this trip—this Vietnam memoir—would not die in the drafts. Yes, I am using AI to help me polish the grammar. But the heart? The "Sauce Rebellion" in the cooking class? The "White Pants Crisis" at the ruins? That is all me. Writing is hard, but today, I don't care about the difficulty. I only care about the truth. So, I started typing. I started resurrecting the days.

By 3:00 PM, my brain needed a break from the screen. I borrowed the owner’s bicycle again. I had no destination. I just pedaled.

I found myself cycling near areas that looked... let's call them "semi-private." Now, I’m not a criminal, but I am curious. I’m the type who bends the rules only when I feel it’s "right" to do so. I stopped to take a picture of the sky. It was glowing with a strange, beautiful shine—a golden hour so perfect it felt like a painting.

I didn't know it then, but the sky was lying to my face. It was smiling before the slap.

The Camouflage

In the evening, I went hunting for that "Day 1 feeling." I returned to the street where the locals eat, looking for the comfort of plastic stools and street noise. I ordered Papaya Salad with Pork Skin and Baked Rice Paper. It was crunchy, spicy, and texturally confusing in the best way.

As I ate, a local man turned to me and started rattling off sentences in rapid-fire Vietnamese.

I blinked. "I am not Vietnamese," I said in English.

He stopped, looked at me in shock, and laughed. "I thought you were Vietnamese! You look just like us."

"We look alike, yes," I smiled. "But I am Malaysian."

I walked away feeling a strange sense of victory. Well done, Mea. On Day 1, I was a tourist with a shield. Now, I have camouflaged so well that I am confusing the locals. I’m no longer just watching the painting; I’ve blended into the canvas.

The Law of Travel

I wanted to extend my walk to get my steps in, but the sky—the one I admired earlier—betrayed me.

The rain didn't sprinkle; it dumped.

And of course, this is the Universal Law of Travel:

• When I carry an umbrella, the sun blazes like the Sahara.

• When I leave the umbrella in the room, Noah's Flood arrives.

I didn't care about my clothes getting soaked—water dries. But I clutched my sling bag to my chest like a newborn baby. My passport. My money. My life. I ran home wet, shivering, but safe.

"What a day," I whispered to the empty room. I dried off, changed clothes, and went back to the laptop. The prompts are written. The drafts are opening. The story continues.

Reflection: Living Outside the Drafts

Today I realized that life is too short to live in the "Drafts" folder.

For 14 years, I held back my stories because I wanted them to be perfect before I hit publish. For days, I held back from walking in the rain because I didn't have an umbrella.

But perfection is a trap. If I wait for the writing to be perfect, I will never publish. If I wait for the weather to be perfect, I will never walk.

The rain today taught me that you can't foresee everything. You can check the forecast, you can pack the umbrella, and you can still get soaked. And that’s okay. The documents are dry. The story is being told. The drafts are finally becoming real.

I am writing this not because it is perfect, but because it happened. And that is enough.

Date: January 2, 2026 Location: The Cherry Garden Homestay, Hoi An Status: Soaked, but Camouflaged.

SOLO In Vietnam Day 15: Ruins & Resurrection

1st Jan 2026

Most of the world sleeps in on January 1st, nursing hangovers and regrets from the night before.

But in Hoi An, I woke up with the sun.

It felt right to start the New Year not by looking forward, but by looking back—way back. I had booked an early morning tour to My Son Sanctuary, the ancient spiritual capital of the Champa Kingdom.

But before the history began, I had to deal with a modern crisis: The White Pants.

I pulled them on—the pair I had painstakingly exchanged yesterday—and looked in the mirror.

Disaster.

They weren't just loose; they were sad. It felt like a "long-distance relationship" between my legs and the linen. It was the first morning of 2026, and my confidence plummeted. My instinct was to run back to the shop, demand a second exchange, and start the year looking perfect.

But I stopped. I thought of the seller lady. Is it fair to her? To start her New Year with a picky tourist returning the same item twice?

No.

I made a decision. I would keep the pants. I would bring them home, and if I never wear them, I’ll donate them. I walked out the door in my old clothes, leaving the white pants—and my vanity—in the suitcase.

The Jungle and the Bricks

My day immediately shifted from frustration to gratitude. The owner of my homestay, knowing I had an early start, was up before me. At 7:30 AM, she had a hot breakfast ready. She didn't have to do that, but she did.

At 7:45 AM sharp, my tour van arrived. In a travel world often plagued by "island time," punctuality felt like a very good omen for the new year.

Our group was small—just eleven of us from Malaysia, Singapore, Australia, and India—bouncing along a Vietnamese road together.

Our guide was a storyteller. He didn't just rattle off dates; he wove the tragic history of the Cham people as we drove toward the jungle. He spoke of the wars, the lost kingdom, and the princesses who sacrificed themselves. He told us how these magnificent red-brick towers were swallowed by the jungle for centuries, only to be rediscovered by French hunters who stumbled upon them while chasing game.

Walking into the sanctuary in the morning light was pure bliss. The air was cool, and the ruins stood silent and imposing against the green mountains.

To stand among ruins that have survived wars, bombings, and centuries of neglect on the very first morning of a new year puts things into perspective. My morning drama about "baggy pants" felt incredibly small in the shadow of these towers.

The Rice and the Ride

After the heavy history, we lightened the mood at a local farm. We learned to make rice paper the traditional way. Spreading the wet batter over the steaming cloth required a delicate touch I definitely don't have, but it was fun. There is something grounding about making food with your hands—it connects you to the earth in a way that just eating never does.

The day ended with another reminder that I am being watched over.

In the evening, I found a restaurant owned by a Catholic family. As I ate, I mentioned I wanted to go to church for the New Year's Mass. Without hesitating, the owner offered me a ride on her motorbike.

"I am going anyway," she insisted. "Hop on."

And I did. I sat on the back of a stranger's bike, heading to mass. I sat in the church, surrounded by a new community, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

On January 1st, I touched the ancient bricks of a Hindu temple in the morning and prayed in a Catholic church in the evening. I had been fed by my host and driven by a stranger.

I went to bed not just happy, but full. The New Year didn't begin with fireworks; it began with grace.

New Year's Reflection: The Architecture of Resilience

The Lesson: Today showed me that History is resilience. My Son Sanctuary was bombed, abandoned, and overgrown, yet it still stands. It’s still beautiful. I want to carry that energy into 2026. No matter what "bombings" or failures I faced in 2025—or what pants didn't fit me this morning—I am still standing.

The Green Flag: Receiving Help. In the past, I might have refused the ride from the restaurant owner, fearing I was imposing or that there was a catch. Today, I simply said "Thank you" and accepted the blessing.

The Wish for 2026: To be like the My Son ruins: strong enough to weather the storms, but open enough to let the light in. And to be like the restaurant owner: kind enough to offer a bike ride to a stranger just because we are heading in the same direction.

Date: January 1, 2026 (New Year's Day) Location: Hoi An Vibe: Ancient bricks, new beginnings.