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| 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).
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