I will go home to the same mountains and their late summer wildfire warnings. My dad will make a comment, everyday, about how dry it is here. I will walk the dog and I will go to the cafe I’ve been going to for years, but this time they will no longer know my name.

I will be ten shades tanner and my hair will be lighter than when I left, and I will walk around wishing everyone knew where I have been and what I have experienced.

Last year I got a hand poke tattoo the day before I went home; the day I went home was a full moon. This year I will also get a hand poke tattoo, this year will also be a full moon. The first I am making a tradition, the second a coincidence.

I saw an astrologer the other day and he told me to fast on the full moons for more clarity and reset. I guess this is a fast of some sorts: leaving one type of life for the other.

“Stranger in a strange land,” he kept saying as he shook his head at my chart. I told him I’ve always felt pulled between several very different lives; I bounce between each, never landing. I kept thinking of Anthony Bourdain: a person that claimed adventure, but was always just looking for somewhere that felt like it fit. Stranger in a strange land, always.

“Your path is to create your own self” he kept saying, and I sighed. “I can usually tell people a more defined path, but that’s now how your chart reads.”

He told me to keep traveling for the next year or so, how it makes sense with what the stars say about me; he said this will help in creating my self. “Yeah, but at what point is this lifestyle just me running away from myself?” He chuckled and didn’t answer my question.

I went on to say, too, how my travel is pretty basic, unadventurous and follows the typical westerner’s backpacking route. Again, am I really finding myself, setting out on a different path than others?

“Well have your neighbors in Indiana been to South East Asia?” “Yes, they’ve been to countries most people haven’t even heard of; each member of the family speaks at least three languages.”

I’ve been writing again– a side effect of self-isolation and leaving a place that has come to feel like home, a toxic one at that. I’m writing about the boys I have met in the past few months, most of whom have gone on to ghost me.

I keep telling myself that love for brief moments is still love. And I keep reassuring myself that I’m not crazy for saying it’s love. Love comes in different forms and I’ve found a lot of it out here.

Always be the one in love.

But, when is it a bit too much? Is it ever a bit too much? My friends say I have infatuation issues, attachment issues.

I sat on the back of a Grab bike the other day and Taylor’s August came on.

So much for summer love.

You weren’t mine to lose.

You were never mine.

For the hope of it all.

More like this:

To be honest, lately I’ve fit the mold of a classic SEA backpacker. You know the type: partying and eating at western cafes more than I’d like to admit. I might not always be proud of it, but here I am wearing it on my chest and admitting that this is the travel style I am writing from. But for a moment we can just not take it so seriously?

Enjoy some not-so-typical travel advice:

Read part one first:

1. If you get a fish bone stuck in your throat, eat an unchewed banana and rice balls to ease it down; might take two to three hours. Tambung, Indonesia.

2. Don’t give your WhatsApp to people if you’re unsure of them, give them your Instagram instead. If you’re private you can just never accept it and if you are public or did accept them, you can block them at any time. Elena, Spain

3. Try the local alcohol even if it’s out of a plastic bottle because why not? Jamie, USA

4. Don’t take the strongest shrooms on the menu, be humble. Damien, France

5. It’s always the locals playing guitar that have the best recommendations. Laura, Switzerland

6. Word of mouth is the best recommendation, but still do your own research (aka don’t trust the recommendations of your travel fling just because you think you love him) Vyla

7. Never tell the motor company that you had an accident because they will make up a scratch on it and charge you. Carmen, Switzerland.

8. If you’re not sure if the ice is safe to drink, make sure it has holes in it. Jia, Malaysia

9. Be a little performative in the hostel common area. Journal, read that notable book with the cover sticking out, read your tarot cards, bring out the coloring supplies. This is gonna draw the right kind of people to you. Vyla

10. If you get malaria, drink python soup. Tambung, Indonesia

11. If you’re constipated in Bali, go whitewater rafting– it’s the fastest way to Bali belly. James, UK

12. Don’t trust a fart over 4,000 feet (and if you do the Inca trail, put two sanitary pads in your underwear). Louis, Peru

13. If you don’t trust the food, put as much spice as possible on it. Laura, Switzerland (she’s a doctor so I trust her)

14. Get an eyelash lift and whatever other beauty services you have always wanted to get; they are usually less than half the price in SEA countries than what you’d pay at home. Vyla

15. Never trust a speedboat to and from the Gili islands (Vyla here– I recommend booking the bigger fast ferries for a smoother ride. Ekajaya is best). Carmen, Switzerland

16. Always have a Thai inhaler, you never know when someone sitting next you is going to be smelly. James, UK

17. Always sit in the smoking area, even if you don’t smoke. Better yet, if you want to make friends, get a pack of cigs and a lighter. Jamie, USA

18. Always have a deck of cards, and maybe a deck of Monopoly Deal (best game ever). Learn the card games before so you aren’t a loser and it’s easier to make friends: Shithead and Cambio are my top recs of what to learn. Vyla and Jamie, USA

19. Flirt like there’s no tomorrow. Hostels are made for this shit, take advantage of the love island-ness if that’s what you’re into. Vyla

20. Fuck more, think less. Carly, Canada.

21. Sleep with all the hostel reps because they are all hot (Vyla here: as a hostel rep, I highly recommend against this). Hannah, USA

22. Don’t let your hostel girlfriend stand in the way of your hostel wife. Joe (he’s a hostel rep, for context), UK

23. If he’s kissing you, he’s probably been kissing other people and will continue to do so. Vyla

24. Don’t unzip your backpack in front of a monkey or ape. Specifically a Siamang ape, you might get slapped. Jamie

25. Stop comparing your travel stories to other people’s. You are on your own journey. Minttu, Finland

26. The easiest way to use the bathroom in an airport with your bags is to keep your big backpack on your back while you go. Marlana, USA

27. Take a yoga teacher training or something like it. Even if you have no interest in teaching, even if you barely do yoga. Just do it, it will change your perspective on a lot of things. Vyla

28. I always bring a small vibrator to get some release when traveling long term. Cilia, Denmark

29. If you’re even somewhat of an introvert, take your alone time seriously. These might end up being some of your best days. Block out a few days every month to get a private room and be completely alone. Stop pushing yourself to be social if you aren’t feeling it. It’s just gonna make it worse. Vyla

30. If your friend asks if it’s okay if her boyfriend comes, say no. Carly, Canada

31. Speak to the people who come from countries with politics you don’t agree with. It’s interesting to hear it all from their perspective even if you don’t agree. Vyla

Happy backpacking! Don’t be too stupid. And always respect the locals, their customs and their land. xoxo

More kinda like this:

And run away is what I did. From all the other kisses, all the other apparent first kisses. All the kisses I would continue to not count.

I do not remember the name of the first guy to kiss me when I had a working memory. Maybe Christian? But does it really matter because I could not count that kiss.

I met him in the early days of my freshman year of college. I was young and naive and felt too old to have never had a real kiss. I wanted to get it out of the way.

Read more

We both know what’s about to happen, but I refuse to make the first move because I’m scared and not drunk enough, and I haven’t kissed anyone in nine months.

We’re sitting in a lounge chair by the pool—me up against the back him facing me—and we’ve run out of things to say; he starts complementing my rings, then my necklace, then I roll my eyes and say don’t forget my toe rings. He laughs and rolls around and places his head in my lap and I bite my lip not in a sexy way, but in a I’m trying not to laugh at how ridiculous this is way. I just stare at him; he stares back giving me puppy dog eyes. We sit this for many moments too long before he takes my hand and places it on his chest…

Is he trying to get me to feel up his pecs (not very existent), or is he trying to get me to feel his heart beating (I’m not a doctor but it doesn’t feel like it’s racing for me)? Either way this is making me want to throw up right on his face.

Before I get the chance, he gently pulls me down and our lips make contact and from the start I’m hating it.

I make myself stay in the kiss longer than I would like. Maybe we’ll ease into it, maybe it will get better. He sits up and faces me so (thank god) we are no longer upside down. It doesn’t get much better. But I stay a little longer, even though I can’t say I’m actually there.

I pull away and I give him a shy smile, trying not to wipe my lips “It’s time to go to bed.”

Read more

We are here to discuss what you need to know, the unspoken rules you need to follow, if you do choose to become one of these unhinged people and embrace this lifestyle (that being said, a lot of these points can be applied to short term travel).

I’ve spent 13 of the past 20 months living out of a backpack. So, from one unhinged traveler to another, here is the best, unhinged, authentic, advice I can give you from all my time away:

1. Do not get involved with a British man. Especially if he is blond. ESPECIALLY if he is a hostel rep. He knows how to charm, but do not fall for it. It will end badly and possibly with an std. I have met some very kind British men so I do feel a little mean in saying this, but I still stand by the fact that you need to be wary of those that are blond and those that work in hostels.

2. Honestly, just don’t get involved with any men while traveling, at least if you have any expectations beyond a one-night stand. Just know that most of them are traveling because they have commitment issues (and I have ‘em too).

3. At the same time, always be the one in love. If you are practical and willing to acknowledge that most romances you have while traveling will end in sadness and hurt (no matter on what note you leave them), they really are a beautiful thing to experience. Those quick bursts of love have taught me a lot about myself and the way I love.

4. Pack however much you want. Packing light is nice and cool, but I ditched my 45l backpack for a 70l and it is kinda a lot but it’s nice. I can bring my decks of tarot and a couple key books and my yoga mat and a few extra tops and not have to worry about squeezing it into my bag every time. Plus I have room to buy some stuff if I really want and not have to sacrifice something I already have. But, no matter what you do, make sure you are using a backpack, not a suitcase. Not because its more convenient– they have lied to you, it’s really not– but because it simply looks cooler. Being cool while backpacking is important. And I will say, the smaller the backpack the cooler you look, and the more room you have to carry around the huge ego you get from packing light.

5. Drink the local liquor with the locals. If you die, it’s not my fault. But I’ve had some great, wholesome times, trying the local spirits– out of crinkled water bottles– and talking or playing games with the locals. Plus, it’s just cool to try what the locals drink, like trying what they eat.

6. Don’t be the bitch that drinks more than they can handle. You’re in a foreign country and although backpacking can feel a bit like a bubble, you aren’t invincible. The hangxiety isn’t worth it. And it’s really annoying for the people who have to take responsibility for you even though they met you two hours ago.

7. Eat and see like Anthony Bourdain. This is kind of mainstream advice, but it’s mainstream because it’s good. He sat on the plastic stools and talked to locals and welcomed in perspectives beside his own (at least that’s how he made himself perceived; I recommend reading In the Weeds by Tom Vitale to get an inside look on what he was actually like). Sit on the stools and don’t fear food poisoning because most of the time you’re gonna be okay. Sit on those stools and slurp down noodles and eavesdrop on the conversations you can’t understand and observe how the people where you are go about the world.

8. Budget for a private room every once in a while.

9. And don’t feel guilty when you want to eat at a western, more expensive restaurant. I love my matcha and I love my smoothie bowls and I’m well aware that they aren’t local cuisines, but they make me happy.

10. On the same lines of doing what makes you happy, it is very important to be okay with going at your own pace and maybe not doing all the touristy things. I’ve been to India twice and have yet to see the Taj mahal. And even though that confuses people, I’m okay with that because those were things I simply had no interest in doing at the moment.

11. Never change your travel plans for a man.

12. But say yes to traveling with people that are on a similar route to you and who you like. Being around the right people can make your trip better by lightyears.

13. Go on dates, especially with locals or expats that live where you’re visiting. Go on dates with people from different countries and kiss people from different countries! Just for the hell of it!

14. Do not feel guilty about being anti-social.

15. When you do want to be social, be authentic. And for gods sake stop asking people where they have been and where they are going. I’ve started asking people “If you were a color what color would you be” and “if you had to go into combat with only a vegetable as your weapon what would the vegetable be” and this has allowed people to let down their guards and to form friendships that are built beyond just the shared bond that we are in the same place right now.

16. Book as little in advance as possible, even if you think you feel certain on your plans. I try not to book things until the day before because I am always changing my mind and it can really suck to leave a place or person when you aren’t ready.

17. Travel slowly. You’ll get a lot more out of it. In my opinion it’s better to go to one place in one country then rush through it all. You will burn out when you travel and the quicker you go, the quicker this will come.

18. Always carry a deck of cards.

19. Learn how to drive a scooter and get the proper license (and insurance) before you leave. I have missed out on a lot of places because I don’t drive a scooter. DO NOT be the cocky asshole that gets on a scooter for the first time in Asia thinking they will be okay. You will crash and you will look stupid.

20. Don’t ask everyone you meet for their Instagrams. It gets annoying to follow all these random people you don’t care about and you’re going to forget about them either way.

21. Just write the freaking review when they ask you or if you really like a place. These are golden currency for places in Asia.

22. Try out different versions of your style. I wore clothes I was too afraid to wear at home and I embraced them and it’s been so fun and it’s changed my overall style. My clothes are brighter now and I feel more confident in my skin and clothes.

23. Traveling is the place to play with your confidence, to boost it. You will likely never see these people again, so be you and be loud and try out different versions of yourself.

24. Volunteer to save yourself money and to gain some really cool experiences. But do your research and be aware that most volunteer gigs are technically illegal and against your visa rules. Fialka has a great article about this.

Safe travels and let me know what advice you’d add to this!

xoxo

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And I’ve quickly realized the reason why I hate group trips: it’s the people, but it’s mostly the food and how said people react to the food and what food they eat. Our group leader will tell us about how she has an amazing place picked out for us tonight and how we are going to love it and I quickly learn the ‘we’ does include me, but is more catered towards the older British couples in the group-- the portion of the group that is more than okay to spent 4x times the cost of what it should be because it’s safe and you get to sit in cushy seats and eat alongside other white people.

On the first day, after a morning walking through the chaotic streets of Old Delhi, our rickshaw drops us off in front of a large glass and metallic mall. Out tour guide leads us up an escalator and a food court appears: McDonalds, Popeyes, even a Pizza Hut alongside popular Indian fast-food joints. I try not to sneer, no one seems to blink an eye but my roommate and I (and I am thanking the universe that I have at least one person to relate to on this trip). “Everything here is safe to eat,” Vanshika, our tour guide, happily exclaims.

Still, Janet—a loud-speaking, posh 70-something year old—will complain about her bad stomach after eating a bit of spicy food there (I ate the same thing and as a person super sensitive to spice, I was fine).

Rose—my randomly assigned roommate-- and I bond over our hatred for this on the second night. We sit at a local restaurant in Delhi, against the advice of our guide, ranting about how expensive the dinner was last night (400 rupees for a curry is literally criminal) and how sterile it felt. I say I’ve been traveling in Asia for almost nine months all together now and the only time I got food poisoning was from a western restaurant so after that I’ll eat anything until its proven guilty. I cite Anthony Bourdain and rant about how part of the experience of travel is food, and they are missing a major factor from being scared.

But fear seems to be a constant on this group trip, on group trips in general. One does not travel on group trips if they are not scared. I was scared to travel alone at first, and that’s why I booked that group trip to Sri Lanka and again for this jaunt around Northern India.

But for these people it feels a bit different: they fear seeing the world through anything but their own, privileged eyes. They fear the people in the places they go and the cultures, and the food, and anything else that may not resemble what they know from home and again how they wish to see the world. So, they choose to be shuttled from one resort to the next, one westerner-only restaurant to the next. They only want to go to places that take credit card and where the people will say hello and thank you to them in English. Then they will go home and tell their friends about the exotic places they have been and the one time they tried momos from a street vendor in India and how they ate dinner with a local family. But they will leave out the part about how the momos were certified-white-people-safe by their guide and how the family they ate with were the owners of the hotel and the dinner was arranged by the group tour.

We all claim we are here, searching for an original experience even though we are all on the same route and all here together. Everything bleeds with elitism and pretentiousness.

I’ve come to realize that everyone on every group trip thinks they are better and more well-traveled than everyone else on said trip (admittedly, including myself). When I tell Stephan that I just spent a month in Goa, he scoffs and says that Kerala is much better, and “much less westernized” than where I was. Then he continues to spiel off recommendations that I didn’t ask for. He goes on to list to all the places he has been in India, as if he owns the place, and I want to plug my ears. I still feel superior because I’m a backpacker and backpackers will always feel above the older folks who travel in more luxurious ways (even though I will admit I am a flashpacker and obviously I’m no better than this man because I am on the same trip as him).

The two posh British couples seem to always be trying to one up each other with their travel stories: Susan and Tod are the worst culprits of them, and Janet and Alexander are just trying their best to one up them even though they never will.

“Ohh you’ve been to Costa Rica right” Susan says, “those birds remind me of the brilliant ones there!” to which Janet will respond, in her annoying The Great British Bakeoff narrator voice (I’m starting to be really put off by older British people on this trip) “no, but that’s on the top of our list. The views do quite remind me of Indonesia too.”

“Oh, we’ve been there, it’s just wonderful, isn’t it? We spent a month biking around Bali and oh I just love it and I loved the Gili islands and Lombok they were so brilliant, and the people were so kind to us.”

“Ahhh yes, we have been there, with a trip through the tour company my daughter works for. It was fine but I found the roads filled with too much traffic and the places we went too overrun by backpackers.”

And it continues on and on, a competition of who has seen what and who’s opinion is more grounded of the places they have been.

Throughout the trip, these British couples really rub me the wrong way. They speak so loudly, as if they want everyone to hear their conversation. And I know Americans have the reputation of being loud, but like why and how when the British are speaking like this (sorry to any Brits reading this, I still love you)?

When they don’t like something, you will know about it. Janet and Alexander sit next to each other on the bus scrutinizing the people on the streets and speaking about the history they just learned at the recent tour stop—history often having to do with the former British rule over India. They are most fascinated by the remnants of British colonization, like the old war monuments and the Viceregal lodge in Shimla. Alexander even asks our guide “what do young Indians think of the British colonialization?”

Tod talks to me once, only because I am from the US, and they have a house in the US and a son that works in San Francisco. When I inquire about the location of their house he says, “in Florida, near the theme parks.” I bite my lip as I’m reminded of the girl I knew that made a big deal of quitting her job to travel for six months but her idea of traveling for six months was only doing Disney excursions and cruises.

His wife, Susan, acts excited about everything we do. Which part of me respects, but I mostly just get a feeling of fakeness. She bounces up and down in her seat as we reach one town, eyes brightly lit exclaiming she already loves this place. Her phone is always out; she takes 20 pictures of everything, then some selfies. I would hate to be her friend on Facebook, and I continue to think about how these people just travel to show. As Tod mopes alongside her, I wonder why they are actually here and how much they actually enjoy it. I think the part of it they enjoy the most is going home and telling stories of far-off lands as they sit at fancy dinner parties.

My conspiracy that they are only here for pictures and stories is further emphasized to me with the timing of everything. Specifically, everything is rushed: one night in this place, then a seven-hour bus to spend an hour here before another hour ride to the hotel for the night. Come see this world wonder, but you only have five minutes to look at it. We have five minutes in the Tibetan temple that is the main reason I even booked this trip. They were clear about the itinerary when I signed up, but this trip is mostly sitting in various forms of transport. Sitting and contemplating my thoughts and making up these conspiracies about the people I travel with. But can you really experience a place in this way? Have you really seen a place when you spent five minutes there absorbed by a sea of people that also only have five minutes to see this once-in-a-lifetime sight?

I think Maxim is the same as the couples, just in a quieter way (maybe because he has no travel partner to bounce his feelings off?). He is married with children, but they would rather go skiing so he goes on his own trips. Maxim has one of those inconspicuous I-work-for-myself marketing jobs and drills me on my sketchy marketing job like he’s trying to catch me in a lie, or try to call me out for not knowing anything, for flying by the seat of my pants (which I always am, but he doesn’t need to know that). And, again, like everyone else, he is trying to one up your travel stories.

I’m lucky to find solace in a few of the other trip participants; we bond over the contemplation of what the hell did we get ourselves into with these people and this trip?

Lucy and I walk together along the crowded streets with headscarves, sunglasses and ear plugs. Northern India has majorly overstimulated us, but at least we are in it together. While dodging cars, motorbikes and cows, we discuss anxiety and how medication changed our lives. I tell her I wouldn’t be here if not for Lexapro and she tells me about how her’s allows her to work. We talk about stigmas and how easy or hard it is to get a diagnosis and medication in our western corners of the world. When I have an anxiety attack in the train station, before the 12-hour sleeper train, she offers me one of her betablockers.

I don’t take the betablocker (she was too anxious about the potential side effects it could have on me) but her and the other girls help me calm down. A local man sits behind us and rolls up his pant leg to revel an oozing swollen knee; another man comes up to us and asks where we are from. Instead of feeding into our fear (the tour guide’s pre train speech did not help our fears: do not go to the bathroom alone, always keep an eye on your bags…) we try to make light.

When a creepy man asks us questions, I speak gibberish. People stare at us for two long and one of us hisses. Tess—Lucy’s twin sister—goes as far as to put a tote bag on her head, drawing more attention than avoiding it, but at least we can get a laugh. Rose and I keel over laughing, trying not to pee our pants, as we get stares, just for different reasons now. We continue to make weird faces until we board the train and although I mostly hate this group trip, I am happy for them and the little memories like this one I have formed with them.

Still, I sure hope I’m not stupid enough to sign up for another group trip.

Like this:

With the experience of last year, when I packed for this current trip, I felt more certain of everything and what I needed to squeeze in my backpack. Because, this ain’t my first rodeo.

And as I made my list and checked it twice, I found it a bit unconventional from what the influencers and bloggers tell you to bring on these trips, aka what I brought with me last year. What I packed is very much me and based on my preferences, but I thought I’d share because maybe it will help someone. At the very least, I always love to stand on a pedestal and scream what I think is right to the few that will listen.

The Backpack

First, we gotta talk about the backpack, un-arugably the most important part of all this. Yeah, because it holds all of your things, but also because it tells everyone who you are. So, the question is how do you want to be perceived?

Will you be the the 80L backpack girl whose only traveling for 3 weeks but needs everything she owns and her straightener and blow dryer; will you be the guy with a 30L backpack of which is his only personality trait; or maybe you’ll be the dependable 40L who exudes quiet confidence and certainty, the kind of person I would ask for advice?

But, one thing I’m certain of is that I don’t want to ever be seen with a roller suitcase. I don’t care how convenient it is, it screams I am here for holiday and beach clubs and clean bathrooms and no adventure. It tells me we will likely never have any chance at being friends.

Okay this is a little bit of a dramatic claim, but it’s not completely false (also maybe I should write a whole other blog about what your backpack says about you?). Your backpack is your home for these months, it’s the main material connection you have to who you are.

When I started writing this essay at the start of this trip (my second long-term trip around Asia). I had (have) a 70 Liter backpack and I was very confident in the fact that I wanted more space and that was okay (I had a 46L the first go around). Today I checked into a hostel and the man carrying my bag called it a monster. And yesterday I hung out with a man with a 32L bag and I felt embarrassed as he sat watching me stuff my oversized packing cubes and my long dress and my untouched copy of “The Artist’s Way” into my bag.

A couple months ago I was saying to bring the big bag, to bring whatever your heart desires even if your bag may be a bit larger than your peers. But today I am here to say to not do that. I don’t wear half of the clothes in my bag most of the time and I haven’t cracked open those books and I don’t think I really should have brought that big chunky sweater that I love too much to ditch but have only worn two times. So yes, I am here to say, cut out almost everything. You don’t need as much as you think you need. Laundry services are always available, and you aren’t going to have as much time as you think to read and use whatever else you thought was necessary; and you’ll re-wear the same clothes either way.

So, in short, I think a backpack between 40 and 50L is the sweet spot.

What to Ditch

Raincoat

Fancy raincoats are the bane of my existence. Even the nicest of the nice eventually get soaked through and you just end up a drowned rat in a downpour. Plus, if you plan your trip right, hopefully you don’t end up in that much rain. I fucking hated carrying around my $150 raincoat around last trip. It took up space and when I did use it, it took forever to dry. The less than $1 plastic covers they sell on the street– although admittedly not very sustainable– honestly work much better than your fancy raincoat.

White clothes

I am not being dramatic when I say all your white and light-colored clothes are going to be ruined. Backpacking is not a clean girl activity. It is a lifestyle where you drip curry onto your pants and end up on a rogue hike when just expected to be sitting on the beach all day. And even if you aren’t messy like me, those white clothes will be ruined in the wash. Many times backpackers get their white clothes back, dirtier than before, with unremovable stains. And that being said, when I do get something on my clothes that would usually be easily removable in the wash at home, that is not the case here, it is now stained forever.

So, if you do bring white clothes (which I continue to do) just know they will be ruined. Honestly, most of your clothes are going to be ruined or even lost in the wash. So, try your best to not bring your favorite pieces. Don’t say I didn’t tell you so.

A reusable water bottle

Trust me, it really does pain me to say this, but leave the reusable water bottle at home. Unfortunately, you are going to be buying plastic water bottles more often than you would like, so there’s really no point in having a reusable one. They get gross and crusty anyways. And if you are staying somewhere with a water refill station that’s great! I just buy a water bottle once and reuse it until it falls apart. But yeah seriously trust me on this one and leave your favorite bottle at home.

My Backpacking Essentials

Literally as many bank cards as possible

Two of two of my bank cards got hacked last time around. Many people’s cards get eaten by the machine, or sometimes you’ll even forget them there (you say you’d never do this, but everyone does seem to do it at least once). Even if you are responsible, something will happen and if you don’t have money (remember cash is king here) you are kinda fucked. I’ve met quite a few people that have had to end their trips early because they no longer have a way to get cash out.

On a similar note, never have all your cards in one place. Put them in different bags, only bring your debit card out with you when you are pulling cash out, never bring multiple cards (I suggest bringing none) out with you. I also tend to always keep my debit cards locked when I’m not using them now as well. This makes them less susceptible to being hacked and me having to cancel them. And I also put those little sleeve protector things on them. Just remember that these things cannot be easily replaced when you are abroad (trust me I have dealt with this and I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone).

Solid soap bars and hair care

Ditch the liquids and welcome solid soaps and shampoo and conditioner to your life. Less spilling and leakage, and just so much easier to travel with, especially if you plan on doing everything carry-on.

An activity or two

There can be a lot of down time while traveling, and traveling can be chaotic; bring along a few things that bring you peace and give you something to fill the time with. For me, this is a travel yoga mat, my tarot cards, and colored pencils and a sketch book.

Related to this, I’d also highly recommend an e-reader. Books are chunky and take up room, and you can get e-books for free through your library anyways (for my friends from the states, check out Libby)

Sunscreen

Sunscreen is more expensive here than you can buy it for at home, so this is one thing I do recommend stocking up on. Don’t be the tomato-looking tourist.

A digi cam

Okay maybe not necessary, but fun. I find my digi cam pictures are more candid and authentic as people don’t freeze up the way they do when they see a phone pointed at them. Having one means you can reach for your phone less often as well (although I will admit that my phone camera is so much better than the pictures my cheap digi cam takes).

Cotton underwear

Girl, you are going to be sweating a lot. It’s hot out here, and you are going to be sweating in places you didn’t think you’d sweat. So, yeah, all i’ll say is that 100 percent cotton underwear is gonna be a lot more comfortable for you.

Menstrual disk

I will die on the menstrual disk hill. Tampons are harder to come by in Asia, plus if you are from the US and are used to the ones with applicators, you will not find those here (we in America love to use unnecessary plastic ugh). These things make your life soooo much easier, like I could talk about how life-changing they are for ages. You only have to change them every 12 hours (!!!!!) and you don’t have to worry about toxic shock syndrome and they are so much more sustainable than everything else. I can’t rave about these enough. (Cups are also an option, but I find them so much more difficult to use and so do most people I talk to, so I highly recommend trying out a disk.)

I’ve ranted enough; here’s my actual (now, annotated) packing list (keep in mind that I do regret packing quite a bit of these things, which I have marked and noted):

Backpacks

• Big back pack

• Smaller backpack (30L)

• Cotopaxi purse

Shoes

• Tevas (one pair of shoes is honestly a flex and I do not regret this)

Clothing

skirts/ skorts

• 3 skorts (would cut one out now)

• 1 long skirt

• 5 shorts (could make do with three)

Pants

• 2 yoga leggings

• Pink flowy pants

• 1 romper

Tops- 10 (this could be cut in half probably)

Intimates

• 1 sports bra

• 1 bralette

• Underwear: 17-20 ( I do not regret this, I am scared of shitting myself and period stains)

• Socks: 2 pairs

• Pajamas x1

Swimsuits

• 3 bikinis

Other clothes

• Baseball hat

• Long sleeve button up

• sweatshirt/ outer layer ( I should have brought a less chunky one)

Toiletries

• Hanging toiletry bag

• Shampoo Bar

• Conditioner Bar

• Body wash Bar

• Face wash

• moisturizers

• Sunscreen

• Menstrual disk

• Panty liners

• Hair brush

• Hair ties

• Deodorant x2 (the deodorant here does not hit the same)

• Tooth brush

• Tooth paste

Makeup (keep it simple)

• Mascara

• Blue eyeliner

• Eyelash curler

• Highlighter stick

Med Kit

• Anxiety meds (lol)

• So much pepto

• So much ibuprofen

• Electrolytes (for when you do shit yourself)

• Z pack

Tech

• Computer (only necessary if you are working while traveling)

• kindle/ e-reader

• airpods

• Wire headphones

• Portable charger

• Outlet adapter

• chargers

• Creative

• Journal

• Pencil pouch

• Pens

• Colored pencils

• Pencil sharpener

• yoga/ meditation book

• Notebook

• Watercolor Sketch book

• Tarot decks ( I brought three, one would have been enough)

• Tarot book and the Artist’s Way (I haven’t touched either of these. Will be shipping them home)

Misc

• Dry bag

• Locks

• Sleep mask (A MUST)

• Ear plugs (A MUST)

• Beach towel

• Wash rag

• Sunglasses

Best of luck with your packing. What are your essentials and what would you ditch?

xoxo

Someone asked me if it was a “big one” when I told them it was my birthday in a few days. Well no. Other than the fact that I have to pay for my own health insurance now. Twenty-five, the past year did feel kinda big though, in a quiet way.

I had my first (what I think is an) epiphany that snapped me out of the way I’ve been flowing through life for the past however many years; and that led to letting in romantic love for the first time (I know I’ve already spoken enough about this, but a lot of the following does have to do with this). I’ve finally been able to eat bananas (iykyk), I started telling people I’m going to write a book (don’t ask if I’ve stated writing it though), I set boundaries with my job that has led me to live an insane full-time travel lifestyle, and I’ve spent seven months out of the past year traveling. I explored the world, and so many different little spiritual things and just so much! Life is so fucking cool! There’s been so much play, but it’s also the first time I do feel like a bit of an adult.

I don’t want to be too self-pitying, because how lucky am I to be spending my birthday on the other side of the world, and to be able to call this my life. But it is a bit odd to be spending a birthday completely alone. So instead of taking tequila shots (happy Cinco de Mayo btw), I’m forcing myself to reflect on to the past year. So, here is what I think I’ve learned over the past 365 days (in no specific order):

1. If they take hours to respond, every time, they are not interested.

2. Delusional optimism and manifesting will actually get you so far. If you believe it, you can bring it in.

3. Being direct is the most freeing action you can do for yourself (and probably everyone else in your life).

4. Letting in love is always going to be the best and worst thing you do for yourself. But always be the one in love.

5. Being the last to do something—waiting until you are ready-- is often much more satisfying and safe feeling than rushing to the finish line alongside everyone else.

6. Even if the advice your best friend is giving you is objectively right, do what you want. You can only learn by making those mistakes for yourself. And the regret, if you have it, is a different kind of regret because at least you know you did exactly what you wanted to do, exactly what felt right in the moment.

7. “Letting go” does not mean pushing away and burying under the surface. Sit with the feeling or moment or whatever you are grappling with and, instead, bring in what you need.

8. Self-study time is sexy and rewarding as fuck: lean into reading and researching your current hyper fixations.

9. When given the opportunity, always reconnect with old friends. Who knows, it may be better and more connected than the first time around (shoutout Sarah and Jamie).

10. Just because he has an accent doesn’t mean he’s hot. And for that matter, you’re highly unlikely to find the love of your life in a hostel or something equivalent.

11. You don’t have to be on the same timeline as everyone else; don’t force a timeline that isn’t meant for you.

12. There are so many more forms of meditation than you think. Do some research, try different practices out and you’ll find one that’s life changing I swear.

13. Do not put your full trust into what the physic or palm reader or tarot cards tell you. These things are amazing, but yeah, take everything with a grain of salt.

14. If you don’t set and listen to your boundaries, the universe will do it for you.

15. Being inauthentic is just going to suck your energy and blow up on you in the long run.

16. Write more love letters. To everyone: friends, lovers, yourself, people you met yesterday.

17. It’s only embarrassing if you make it embarrassing. Embrace the cringe and awkwardness.

18. Carve time out of every day to do arts and crafts and other creative pursuits, even if they are “bad.”

19. Having crazy goals is good for you.

20. Ask the crazy questions; be the person that’s a little too intense for the average person.

21. But also, be so silly. Bring freedom and play and dancing into every moment that you can. Everything can be light.

22. Sometimes, staying in your comfort zone is scarier than leaving it.

23. Keep no secrets, oversharing will lead you to a lot of great conversations and authentic friendships.

24. And speak your dreams out loud, tell people what you dream to do and don’t keep them a secret. It’s a way to speak it into reality.

25. Think about what you would tell your best friend in she was in your situation. Take that advice.

At dinner tonight, I’m sitting next to a fellow American, Bob—a guy who came to yoga to find some peace and lose some weight after retiring from the national guard. One of the many German girls, Amelia-- who has a lip ring and an undercut shave on one side of her head and political resistance badges on her fanny pack-- is sitting across from us.

She looks at us and says, “So you are from the US?” I give a tightlipped smile and nod and open my mouth to say something along the lines of what I always say: “yes unfortunately,” or just a simple yes with an attempt to redirect the conversation—a trained reaction from so many negative reactions to the announcement of my nationality. Before I can speak, a smirk appears and her eyes narrow, “So you support genocide and concentration camps and hundreds of people being killed by oppressive leadership in your country.” It’s not a question, it’s a direct accusation.

Read more

This trip hasn’t been sitting right with me. No big thing I’ve ever done has felt right, but this one, even more so.

I packed the day before I left and finished up at my job a few days ago and I’ve barely thought of this trip; this one-way ticket trip where when people ask how long I’ll be gone I avoid the answer. At least three months but hopefully forever, if my delusional plan works out (meet a hot man and get married and get another passport).

That’s a run-on, but what I’m trying to say is that when I get to the airport, I don’t feel the sudden notion that I made the right decision. I consider calling my dad and asking him to turn around and pick me up; we can just forget this ever happened and I can go back to having my existential crisis within my country.

I don’t. I exchange USD for Indian rupees at the airport, and I do get on my flight to Dallas. In Dallas, I walk through the international terminal and shed a few tears and text a few friends about how much I’m freaking out. I don’t think I’m doing the right thing, this doesn’t feel right, I don’t know if I should get on this flight. They say just go, whatever you do is right. I think about how I could just get on a plane back to Denver.

I don’t. I calm down a little and panic buy a $30 neck pillow in the 7/11 and I stand by my gate doing random stretches and refusing to sit down because I’m about to get a 14-hour flight. I continue to worry and feel wrong, but I’m committing.

Usually what starts off feeling wrong, eventually becomes right.

The gate agent keeps making announcements that the flight is delayed. Delay delay delay. And here’s another sign that this isn’t right. Hordes of people line up to board; it feels so right to them that they want to be the first people on this plane.

Another announcement: the flight is canceled. The hoard of people turns into a massive swell descending upon the gate agents. They tell us to leave the terminal, to retrieve our bags, to go to the check-in counter for further instructions.

I cry at baggage claim. People stand shoulder to shoulder around the carousel not letting me in (why do people loose common courtesy and sense in the airport?). My backpack comes out and I reach for it and the cover tears. I cry and I think again that I will just get on a plane to Denver, that will be easier, to go home. But I don’t; I never will. I think all these things, but I continue on the path I’ve set for myself because taking any other option would be a failure, would go against everything I am.

The line at the counter will take several hours to get through; we learn that they aren’t rescheduling any of our flights yet, this line is just to get a hotel for the night. I drop my bag and look to the lady next to me and sigh. We let out a collective breath and giggle; this is absurd. She has three large suitcases and, in a thick accent, tells me that she’s heading to Ethiopia. I tell her that my destination is Southern India, the state called Goa. Which feels odd to say, because I still can’t accept that I’m off to India, again.

A gasp comes from a lady in front of us. I’m going to Goa too. Then the lady in front of her exclaims that’s her destination too. In a snap, I have two Indian aunties. We talk about Goa and what we are doing there, and we talk about our lives. I share my portable charger with Freida, and she takes me under my wing. she’s assertive and we get lucky, finding our way to the front of the line when they open a new lane. They watch out for me and I for them and I’m remined of the kindness of the people in the place I am going and the places I have been. They are a sign that this is right, that I have made the right decision.

I keep getting lucky, getting the rights signs; I keep getting to the front of lines. The front of the check in counter and the front of the line for the hotel shuttle then the front of the line for hotel check in.

The shuttle is where it gets interesting. I’m surrounded by people I would never put myself next to in my life and hope to never encounter again, but they give me something interesting to hear and see.

In a thick southern accent, the women behind me screams, “I’ll be needing one of those Xanaxs tonight,” to her sister sitting in the front. I immediately draw a line between her and White Lotus’ Victoria Radcliff: this woman has the depressants but not the class or wealth of the tv character. She screams to the man sitting next to her that she’ll be heading to the hotel bar for a whiskey immediately and that she’s moving to Egypt and she wants to get there now. “Where’s ICE when you need them,” she continues to scream, “I want to get out of this country.”

I gather the stories of the others on the bus. There’s the man going to Pakistan to hunt and the southern guys going to Saudi and the middle eastern man going home.

When there’s silence, I ask the couple sitting next to me where they are going. Malaysia then Thailand than Nepal and the Philippines.

Oh I love Nepal and that’s a lot of countries you must be traveling fast, I say. Kind of sort of the man says, but we are travelling missionaries so we stay in each place for a bit. I bite my tongue and luckily the shuttle pulls up to the hotel. Missionaries are so out, a friend later says when I recount the story to her.

I check in and the receptionist is obviously frazzled at the number of people lined up. She says she isn’t prepared for this and I tell her good luck.

I think about all the humanness in this, how raw these travel worries are and how they expand way past just me and the people on this flight.

The hotel sheets feel scratchy against my skin, and I struggle to sleep, but I put my head on the pillow and all I can think is this is why I travel. My flight has been canceled and I’m arriving two days later than planned, but this all feels right. It’s the connection and comradery that the chaos of travel brings. Different destinations and mindsets but at the end of the day we are all humans wanting to get somewhere. This all brings such a feeling of aliveness and adrenaline. A feeling of flight that isn’t the fight or flight I constantly feel at home. Even with all the chaos. My jaw unlocks for the first time in months when I entered the airport. My body has been telling me this is right. My thoughts just like to resist.

And this has all been a confirmation to my energetic self. What you put out, will eventually come back to you. When I tell my parents all the strokes of luck that keep coming to me, all my dad responds is “good Karma.”

In the morning I wake up and do yoga in the room and eat the shitty breakfast buffet. I plan to head to the airport early, but it seems everyone else has the same idea. But once again, I get lucky, I somehow get pushed to the front of the line for the airport van. I arrive before they open the check in counter and I stand next to a woman with two big suitcases and a stylish green track suit. I spark up conversation. Where are you going how was your experience yesterday? We talk about travel and the dread of group trips and where in the world we have been before. She’s in business class and she spends over $75k a year on her Amex so she has the privilege of being able to bring a guest to the lounge for free. She invites me to come with her. Luck, karma, energy.

The counter opens and I’m in the front of the line again and I check in and wish the attendants the best then head to the lounge with my new friend. I tell her how funny this feels, to be a backpacker in here. This kind of juxtaposition has been common in my life. I order a Bloody Mary and she a lemon drop martini.

She tells me about how she got her tubes tied at 20 and how she works a job that allows her two weeks off a month. Every month she flies business class in Emirates or Qatar. She’s been to the Seychelles and Namibia and India. She’s going to the Maldives, again, this trip and also Sri Lanka, staying in a resort the whole time. She tells me she travels alone but she invites her drivers and the people she meets along the way to join her. She tips well and she rents entire boats and excursions for herself because she doesn’t want to deal with annoying people, she wants to be on her own time. She talks about social media and how she removed all her followers except 60.

She doesn’t ask much about me but that’s okay because I get a free Bloody Mary and a nice lunch and a story to tell. I get to see a woman living a dream, someone to aspire towards in a way, and maybe I get to help her feel seen a little. It seems she just wants to share.

I feel lucky to get to sit here and to experience something I never would if I stayed home. We board the fight and she goes to the front of the plane, I go to the back. But I feel very lucky very happy to be squished in the back of this plane and to be heading out of my comfort zone and towards new experiences and stories.

The arrows where always pointed this way, but they’ve started to light up.

Everything you’ll read in this series are (lightly-edited) journal entries pulled straight from the journal I kept while solo traveling around South East Asia in 2025– mostly from the start of this eight month trip. They’re just short entries from my obsessive journaling, but will give you a look into my mind and how it really feels to backpack solo.

Entries from my last full day of travel and my flight home after being abroad for eight months. September 2025. (the last of the series!)

Today feels wildly disconnected from all the lives I’ve ever lived. Once again, I find myself between two dramatically different versions of myself.

Last day in Thailand, in Bangkok. I’m putting too much pressure on myself. Pressure to enjoy the day and pressure to reflect and to have big revelations that I know are unlikely to come when I force them. The energy felt light this morning, then heavy again once the rain started to fall.

I slept okay on the train but the full moon is keeping me up. A full moon, a red moon, an eclipse that I know nothing about other than the Instagram astrologers saying it’s a time to surrender. And surrender is what I’m trying to do, and I think it’s working, or at least I’m getting through it. In terms of [the failed travel fling], I feel more disconnected from the story and that whole situation. Trying to surrender to my feelings of this whole trip, surrender myself to actually feel them.

I’m feeling confused. I know this trip has changed my life, especially in the past few months. I know I’ve been a drastically different person , at least outwardly, than the one I was when I left. I’m worried about how that will translate to home; I always do change with my environment, unfortunately. I guess that’s just another thing I need to surrender to and let flow.

I think there is so much to process so I’m shutting down. Overdrive leads to the crash. I pulled a tarot spread asking for three cards to reflect on my trip. Reversed Chariot, Revered Justice, and Ten of Swords. They all represent ending or moving forward, surrender, and difference. I’m interpreting it as a loss of a former self and an eventual move to this person I am now. This is not loss though, its growth. It’s letting go of an old self and surrendering to this new woman and energy. It’s all good. It will always be good.

The clouds look like land, and the sky the ocean. I guess it’s all the same in the end. The journey home has started, but I know it’s going to go on much longer than these 24 hours of travel. Much to grapple with and accept. I’m just sitting on this plane, no movies, no music, raw-dogging it, trying to force myself to reflect. Manifesting and meditating and doodling.

How is it that eight months ago I was in India? Eight months ago I was meticulously planning a trip that was endless and felt like the start to a new life, the answers to my questions. And here I am even more confused. Yeah, maybe I’m in a new cycle, maybe I’m a new person, but I still have no direct answers to what I am meant to do with this life.

I’ve been thinking about my original intentions with this trip. There are the surface level ones, but I truly don’t think I ever had any, other than running away from my comfortable life that was making me uncomfortable and anxious. Maybe the intention was to see what’s out there because of my fear of missing out and fear of getting too comfortable. Fear of getting too close to commitments and people that love me. Because in the end, travel is no commitment and always leaving the people you love and who love you.

Related:

Everything you’ll read in this series are (lightly-edited) journal entries pulled straight from the journal I kept while solo traveling around South East Asia in 2025– mostly from the start of this eight month trip. They’re just short entries from my obsessive journaling, but will give you a look into my mind and how it really feels to backpack solo.

The following entry is written after spending three days in silence at a monastery in Northern Thailand. September 2025.

Decided to be almost entirely silent during my three days here at the monastery. The first night, the Aussie monk implored us to not only try silence outwardly, but to not go on our phones or read or journal. The reading and journal part took me by surprise, but I was like you know what, may as well go all in.

I immediately noticed how much value I put in my writing and journaling. Maybe value isn’t the right way to put it; it’s a way I hang on to my past because I’m scared of losing any memories. I feel like I need to write everything down or it will forever be gone. And as of late, I’ve been going back and reading old entries– to ‘research’ for my blog– which is something I never used to do. Journaling is good, but it has enabled me to hold on to things I need to be letting go of. It’s complicated because, as a writer, I want to tell these stories but where do I draw the line?

Also found it interesting that today, when I finally spoke, of course I only wanted to speak about the main situation I’ve been trying to scrub out of my mind (my failed travel fling). I was talking to the two other girls that had spent the entire time in silence about our struggles, and I was like I mainly noticed that no matter what media I did or did not have access to, I was still running through the same story in my head that I’ve been trying to let go of. I said sorry for being vague but I’m trying to not talk about it and keep it in.

One girl said something I really liked. Something along the lines that the longer you keep telling a story and letting it stick with you, the more energy we are giving it to stay. It sounds so simple reading it back, but it feels profound right now. It’s all easier said than done too.

I wanted to write another essay about the travel fling but I think it’s better I let it go for now. I have so much more to write about anyways! So much more of a person to be! (future Vyla here: I did in fact end up writing more about it. I wrote six essays about it. Oppssie!)

These last few days have been nice, though. Wasn’t hard to not talk, it was kind of a relief honestly. The reading and journaling part wasn’t as bad as I expected either. Did find myself wanting to write some stuff down, but I didn’t. If I’m not going to remember it a few days out maybe I don’t need to remember it anyways.

I mostly just sat in my thoughts.

Read more from me:) :

Everything you’ll read in this series are (lightly-edited) journal entries pulled straight from the journal I kept while solo traveling around South East Asia in 2025– mostly from the start of this eight month trip. They’re just short entries from my obsessive journaling, but will give you a look into my mind and how it really feels to backpack solo.

The following entries are from a few days spent on the island of Phi Phi in Thailand. March 2025.

I’m in Phi Phi. Pee pee. It’s morning and I’m sitting on an uncomfortable rock on the beach by the pier, wearing the skimpy black swimsuit I bought yesterday that is probably from the likes of Shein. I love how comfortable I’ve been feeling in my body lately– something that I think came from the combination of Lexapro and yoga teacher training. It feels so fucking good to not worry about how my body looks in a swimsuit, and to feel confident and sexy in it.

Phi Phi is another tourist trap of photos. A beautiful location with walking streets lined with shops for tourists selling the same jewelry, giving cheap tattoos and feeding us overpriced food. There’s stands selling buckets of alcohol and flirty guys trying to get you to sign up for booze cruises to Maya Bay.

We went ‘out’ last night. The festivities included never ending fire shows– jump ropes of fire, twirling fire, fire on a tight rope, a penis-shaped fire sign. There was blasting music but no one dancing. I paid 100 baht to ride a mechanical bull, to show off to a crowd of no one. Then we went to the famous muay thai bar which pays drunk white guys with alcohol to participate in a fight in the ring in the middle of the bar. It was ridiculous and stupid but also fantastic and impossible to peel your eyes away from. Our hostel is steps away from this place and it all smells like pee and sweat and every other body odor.

Read more from Thailand!:

Everything you’ll read in this series are (lightly-edited) journal entries pulled straight from the journal I kept while solo traveling around South East Asia in 2025– mostly from the start of this eight month trip. They’re just short entries from my obsessive journaling, but will give you a look into my mind and how it really feels to backpack solo.

The following entries are from my time in Ao Nang in Thailand. March 2025.

3/13/25

I went on a tour today with a party hostel and it was fine and okay, but so different from this lonesome life I’ve gotten so used to. At the end of the tour, we ended at the host hostel and were greeted by a 5’5” shirtless, eyebrow pierced, tattooed, british guy pouring shots down the throats of everyone walking in. On the drive back to my hostel, I saw the town at night: touristy shops and bars and tattoo parlors and sunburned white people crawling around. Not the town for me.

3/14/2025

I’m realizing I’d rather be alone. I went to Railey Beach today with this American woman, and I found myself wanting to shake her off. She was a perfectly pleasant person, but I wanted to be alone. She talked too much, asked ‘deep’ questions I didn’t care to talk about with a near stranger. I just wanted to read and people watch and observe the nature and the ocean, and she just kept asking questions about my family and my dating life and if I’m on the apps. Maybe I sound mean, but I think I just know what I want. I really do enjoy being alone, having my peace. Even though I have a lot of it, sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.

3/15/25

Going on tours and being in touristy places makes me realize how much we humans have truly lost the plot. It’s no longer about the experience, it’s about the photos we got to prove we experienced it. I’m a victim of it too, no better than anyone else. It just seems that on all these tours I go on, the purpose isn’t seeing, the purpose is capturing. It feels so ridiculous, all the selfie sticks and posing and faking. We watched a beautiful sunset, but everyone experienced it through their phones. All the pictures most people are taking are shit too. But we have to prove we were there. I took some pictures, but tried to resist. I was thinking about memory and how mine has kinda turned to shit. But, most of us aren’t even going to look back on these pictures to remember. We will post them for validation then forget. I feel like I literally have to do it, have to post and prove that I am better than everyone else. It’s such a complicated relationship and my brain is fried.

Back to memory. Even off my phone, trying to observe the sunset and its pinks and how it reflects off the ocean I found myself thinking about how I will not remember these moments, this day. When I travel, it feels like everything should be majorly significant, but it’s really not. Just another beautiful place where people go to get pictures day in and day out. But you know what, I do feel inspired with all the observations. Inspired to write and create and to think deeply!

More from Thailand:

Everything you’ll read in this series are (lightly-edited) journal entries pulled straight from the journal I kept while solo traveling around South East Asia in 2025– mostly from the start of this eight month trip. They’re just short entries from my obsessive journaling, but will give you a look into my mind and how it really feels to backpack solo.

The following entry was written in Ella, Sri Lanka. February 2025.

There’s a man wearing a shirt that says ‘be a traveler, not a tourist.’

He’s waiting in line at the western restaurant at the bottom of the hill. On top of the hill, Little Adam’s Peak, there’s a woman selling King Coconuts and tourists posing for pictures on the edge of a pseudo-cliff. Somehow a man with a cane and a woman with a cast on her foot made it to the top. A little below the peak, is the top of a short zip line— ride it for 30 seconds for $40. There’s also a cafe with imported sweets and a rock climbing wall and a ropes course. When the ‘travelers’ walk up the (paved) stairs on the mountain, they do not show hiking etiquette, pushing their way up or falling their way down. They are wearing sandals and dresses and jeans. As they walk down, there are local women with their babies tied onto their backs trying to sell trinkets and coconuts. Continue down the paved path and there’s another zip line and a massive swing overlooking the rice fields that you can pay $20 to swing on. For an added cost you can have a drone video, a photographer photograph, and rent a flowy dress and a plastic flower crown. Next to that is a pool club. Lots of tourists who just took the most beautiful train journey in the world there because they saw it on TikTok lounge by the pool or start the hike up.

At the bottom of the hill the man stands drinking an iced latte. He is wearing a hype beast styled shirt that says ‘be a traveler, not a tourist.’

More from Sri Lanka:

Everything you’ll read in this series are (lightly-edited) journal entries pulled straight from the journal I kept while solo traveling around South East Asia in 2025– mostly from the start of this eight month trip. They’re just short entries from my obsessive journaling, but will give you a look into my mind and how it really feels to backpack solo.

The following entries were written from Ella, Sri Lanka. February 2025.

I love the morning! I love all the sounds; sounds not yet sullied by human life. I love the morning light hitting the earth, the faces of the mountains. There’s always a distinct, refreshing smell that is only there in the early hours, no matter where you are. It brings peace. Truly the best time of the day and I’m always grateful when I have the time to slowly enjoy it.

This morning, I went out onto the hotel balcony. Laid out my mat and meditated and looked at Ella Rock and reminded myself that I am here.

It’s funny; yesterday I was journaling at the restaurant outside the hotel, and several people came up to ask me about it. People seem to be stunned by my small writing and pages of words. A restaurant worker came up to me and looked over my shoulder and literally tried to read it. I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt that he did not understand it was literally my diary. I nicely shooed him away.

Another restaurant patron came up and asked if I was a journalist. “No, this is my personal diary,” I said so as to not cause any more confusion with any word containing “journal.” He then proceeded to tell me his condensed life story, as if I were a journalist and I was going to write an article about him. I smiled with tight lips and gave him a few nods until he walked away. Sometimes I just want to journal in peace! Let me be a journalist of my own story right now!

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It’s the first night and we’re on a roof overlooking the ocean. When I tell my roommate that I don’t plan on drinking much, she says “Well good luck with that, you’re with a group of Brits and we drink like fish.”

I look around the table and wonder what the next two weeks will hold and who these people are.

Em– a brit– is the group leader. She went on one group trip and never left; she’s been leading these trips through Sri Lanka for the past year, the same route week after week. She’s kind and fun and I’m always trying to get the gossip out of her.

We love to gossip about the couple on the trip. They’re on their literal honeymoon.

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Everything you’ll read in this series are (lightly-edited) journal entries pulled straight from the journal I kept while solo traveling around South East Asia in 2025– mostly from the start of this eight month trip. They’re just short entries from my obsessive journaling, but will give you a look into my mind and how it really feels to backpack solo.

The following entries were written in transit from my yoga teacher training in India. February 2025.

“Life is so weird” is the phrase constantly going through my head. This morning I wore a sari and ran around a Himalayan ashram barefoot hugging people I met just three weeks ago, telling them I love them.

Tonight, after what felt like such a rushed departure, I’m in the Delhi airport hotel. Alone, again. I ate a chicken sandwich in bed and posted on Instagram to feel validated.

I teared up saying goodbye to my ashram roommate. I didn’t let myself fully cry because we were in the Delhi terminal and as a solo female traveler, I always feel the need to be seen as confident and unshakable in public. But it was real tears; a hurried goodbye in the arrival terminal. After only three weeks we talk like best friends: deep conversations, talking about poop, gossiping, just being weird and being ourselves.

I think part of this emotion comes from knowing that I am fully alone again. Especially after being surrounded by deep love and joy and support the past few weeks. Today, I used the word “blissful” shamelessly, to describe my current state, in front of everyone in the ashram. I am becoming the stereotypical yoga woman we all make fun of. But I understand it too deeply now.

I made two big travel mistakes today. First, I realized this morning, a few hours before my flight, that I had actually booked the flight for the next month. So I cancelled that flight and booked a flight for today. Bam, money lost!

Then, I made the mistake of putting electronics in my checked bag. I got through security at the airport and was about to happily bite into my bag of Haribos when my name was called over the loud speaker. Scary! With little explanation, I got taken through the back corridors of this rural Indian airport, fisked and asked to open my checked bag and take the electronics out. I had packed my spare phone and totally spaced on that— a huge no no here.

Everyone was kind and it all ended up being okay but it was definitely a little nerve-wracking. A learning experience for sure.

I spoke to the old Canadian couple next to me on my flight, opening up the conversation (who am I?!) when I heard their accent and thought they were American. They were nice but a bit skeptical of my solo travel, which even in the smallest doses can feel a bit shitty, especially from other travelers.

Off to Sri Lanka tomorrow.

Binge the rest of the series!:

Everything you’ll read in this series are (lightly-edited) journal entries pulled straight from the journal I kept while solo traveling around South East Asia in 2025– mostly from the start of this eight month trip. They’re just short entries from my obsessive journaling, but will give you a look into my mind and how it really feels to backpack solo.

The following entries are from my last few days of yoga teacher training in Rishikesh, India. February 2025.

A lot of anecdotes are running through my head right now as an attempt to describe the pure, yet bittersweet bliss I’ve been feeling today. I’ve become the girl who always has a smile on her face, a soft smile, a constant showing of bliss.

It feels like the first day of spring, the last day of school.

Words we’ve used so far today include: ecstasy, unexplainable happiness, bliss, joy. I literally feel so high, happy and content. Literally, what’s the use of drugs when this is possible? I’m so grateful I can experience this and have these simple, yet profound realizations.

We taught our final yoga practicum today and it went flawless. We all wore white and sat in a line on our mats through the center of the room and no one missed a beat. Violet did a beautiful meditation at the end and one girl literally cried. She led us through a meditation that asked us to think of the first time we walked up to the ashram and how we felt. She asked us who we were at that point in time and how we have changed spiritually. She told us to think about our decision to come here and how brave we are and how crazy and courageous we are.

People thanked us, praised us, said we set the bar high. We cheered and danced at the end and gave each other endless hugs, telling each other how proud we were. An indescribable feeling of pure joy. A literal high. Like I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this way, truly. It was the joy of being done and how well it went. It was the happiness of being able to accomplish that with that specific group of girls who have quickly become sisters. It was such a special boost of confidence– oh, I CAN do this, I’m good at this. I feel like I can do anything and I’m so fucking proud of myself for everything. I’m grateful to myself and grateful to my body for getting me through it despite my frustrations with it.

Trish and I are getting ready for bed and she gets in bed and exclaims “Life is so good right now.” I laugh and agree and feel sad knowing that this feeling just started and it will end so soon. I feel like in the past couple days, past few hours even, we’ve all gotten so close and I’m trying to enjoy it but there’s also a pain to it all. We had two more student-led classes today and they were both beautiful and joy-felt and made all of the emotions push up to my throat and behind my eyes.

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It actually hurts, all the tension boiling up.

I sat in the desist chair today, getting cavities, plural, filled– as I do every time I visit the dentist—damn my genetics and American-made sugar addiction– fearing lock jaw from holding my tight jaw open for too long. And I experienced a real life example of how dependent I am of breathing through my mouth. I don’t know the last time I got a full breath in, especially through my nose, it always stops in the chest. This is something I’ve been talking about and thinking about a lot lately, laying in bed, hands on stomach feeling my breath and trying to get it deeper inside. But it stops in my throat, it fills up my stomach instead of my lungs, it is always short in some sense. And I lay there getting frustrated because I’m a yoga teacher and I meditate and practice every day and I should be able to do something as simple as breath. But anxiety took that away from me a long time ago. So much so that even when I’m ‘free’ from it, its pattern is so ingrained in my body that I no longer know how to breathe as a normal human should.

So I sit in this dental chair with the singsongy dentist telling me to take deep breaths in and out through my nose. Instead I pull air in through my wide open mouth and exhale it back onto her gloved hands. She keeps reminding me, but in the levels of restriction upon me I can’t tell her that my body doesn’t know how.

The dental drills start to assault my mouth and I want to scream isn’t this going to give my inner ears hearing damage?! I want to tell them to stop because I’m starting to freak out, but I can’t because that will only prolong this. So I sit there with the sounds of jackhammer on pavement inside my body and I can’t catch my breath, even through my mouth, this time and I start to panic. I close my eyes, trying to stop it, trying to go inward and use all the meditation techniques I spent thousands of dollars on and countless hours learning this past year but I cannot because the fear is inside me.

But then, there’s a moment where it all stops. I’ve stopped processing what is happening to me, what is happening inside of me.

I am outside of my body.

I tune out. Things are said to me and I pretend to process them, but I do not. I stare straight forward, unable to process whatever scenes are happening around me. I stop registering everything. My body goes slack.

As if I had been sedated.

I nod as the dental assistant tells me the aftercare, and I don’t argue when the procedure bill comes out to twice of what they gave me on my estimate (loveeeeee not have dental insurance), and I float out to my car, taking a moment to breath because I do not feel with it enough to drive.

I sit in park and Harry Styles’ new song comes on and I don’t hear it because I’m realizing what just happened and I’m trying not to freak out at how easy it was to disassociate, to leave this world for a brief moment in order to prevent a panic attack.

It was a snap of a finger; here to not here in a millisecond. And I think this is the first time I’ve actually recognized it in ‘real time’ and now I’m looking back on scenes from my life seeing that maybe it wasn’t the lexapro or overdoses of CBD that saved me, but dissociation.

I see it in the sudden calm during family events that usually used to send me into panic. And I see it in moments of intimacy where I felt so proud of myself for overcoming that fear and experiencing it, but was I actually there, experiencing it? I think about the months in 2020 where I was in a constant state of dissociation and floating through the world, numbing myself from the emotions that sat heavy on my chest. I don’t remember most details from those months because of the weed and the dissociation, but what I do know now is that I was never fully in my body, never fully aware of myself.

So, I sit here on a random Wednesday, years and months after these instances occurred having a coming to god, a coming to myself. Half shock, half relief. At least now I know, at least now I’m aware enough to see it happening, to see the triggers. At least now I know. But there is sadness in knowing all the time and experiences I lost to a dissociative state.

I float my way through my errands: the bank machine, the grocery where I buy snacks I can’t yet eat because half my face is numb. And the last errand on my list is one I’ve been putting off for months for literally no reason other than laziness– going to a permanent jewelry store to have a necklace relinked– and I consider skipping it once again, but I don’t. It’s been months of driving past the store and saying shit I need to go there but I forgot the chain at home.

The store is filled with natural light and crystals and aura pictures of the employees and a warm soul that works on relinking my necklace. She asks me about my life and I don’t feel insecure about talking with a lisp through my half-numb lips. I tell her about my 14 hour flight to India next week and she tells me she is pregnant with her first and we talk about the worry parents have for their children and we figure out we are both midwestern Colorado transplants. I ask her her name and tell her mine and she is gentle as she lights a spark to reweld this necklace permanently around my neck.

I feel so much lighter but not in the floaty way. I feel lighter because I am finally back, back here, back in my body. I walk out smiling and thinking about how I was not putting off running that errand, but the universe was saving it for when it knew I needed it most.