I Took a Flight, and Found Myself Instead
I had waited for this moment for so long—my first time taking a flight overseas, finally. The feeling was surreal, almost like stepping into a dream. But it wasn’t just about the destination; it was about what this trip meant to me. It was about setting foot into the unknown, alone, and embracing every bit of it.
Before even stepping onto the plane, the excitement was already building. At KLIA, my friends and I were buzzing with energy, taking out our passports, snapping photos, capturing every little moment like it was our first day of school. And in some ways, it felt like it—a new adventure, a new chapter, a first time that we wanted to remember forever. Of course, the selfies didn’t stop there. As soon as we got to our seats on the flight, we clicked away, immortalizing our goofy smiles and the sheer thrill of what was about to happen.
I also spent a good amount of time glued to the airplane window, taking endless sky pictures because, honestly, how could I not? The clouds stretched endlessly below us, shifting and swirling like a dream.
And, of course, I had to try the in-flight meal—I ended up with a bread pizza. Was it gourmet? No. But in that moment, sitting there in my seat, 30,000 feet above the ground, it somehow tasted like adventure itself.
After touchdown, I took a random photo. A simple, unplanned snapshot, but it held so much more. It wasn’t just an image; it was a moment frozen in time—proof that I had arrived, that I had made it. The air felt different, the world felt vast, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be.
Once we touched down in Bangkok, we went straight to our hotel at 14 Sathorn. Tucked between residential houses, it felt like a hidden pocket of the city, surrounded by small stalls selling all kinds of food late into the night. Even the famous 7-Eleven was just a short walk away, making everything so convenient. The hotel itself had its own kind of aesthetic, with mesmerizing tile work that added so much character. And that big mirror? It quickly became my go-to spot for fit checks and random daily selfies—because, of course, priorities! Hahaha.
After we dropped our bags at the hotel, we immediately went out to explore Bangkok’s nightlife. But of course, first, 7-Eleven! Hahaha. That is a must-stop in Thailand, no debate. Stocked up on snacks and drinks, we were finally ready to dive into the night.
We decided to find dinner at a night market in central Bangkok, wandering through the endless stalls of sizzling street food. The aroma of grilled seafood, spices, and fresh herbs filled the air, making it impossible to choose just one thing. Eventually, we settled on seafood—huge portions, fresh, and absolutely delicious. Every bite was an explosion of flavor, the perfect way to fuel up for the night ahead.
Most of the night, we just wandered through the city, taking in the sights, the sounds, the vibrant energy. And then came the tuk-tuk ride—wild, exhilarating, and way more fun than I expected! Zipping through the streets, wind in my face, neon lights flashing past—it felt like a mini rollercoaster, Bangkok-style.
That morning, it hit me. I woke up in another country. Wow. It literally left me speechless, in awe, almost like a dream. Seeing words I didn’t understand yet somehow feeling cozy in their presence—it was a strange but comforting feeling, like the world was unfamiliar but still welcoming me in its own way.
Before heading out, I stumbled upon a tiny café near my hotel—very cute, very demure, tucked between houses like a little secret waiting to be found. I stopped for a cup of coffee, and for a moment, everything felt surreal. The quiet hum of the morning, the scent of freshly brewed coffee, the gentle chatter of locals—it was the kind of peace I didn’t realize I needed. Taking that first sip, warm and grounding, felt like the perfect way to start my day, almost like a reassurance that I was exactly where I was meant to be.
My friends and I had different plans, different journeys, and that was exactly how I wanted it. I preferred to wander alone, letting the city reveal itself to me in its own time.
But first, my first time taking a Grab bike. Hahahaha. I couldn’t help myself but smile all the way through the ride. The wind rushing past, the thrill of weaving through Bangkok’s streets—it was exhilarating in a way I never expected. Definitely not the last time I’m doing that.
The streets of Talat Noi became my first love. The road there was really my vibe—rustic, blending the old with restoration, with life, with these incredibly pretty cafes that felt like hidden gems. It was like walking through a painting—murals splashed against old buildings, a mix of past and present, the hum of daily life moving gently around me. Almost like describing life itself—worn yet alive, constantly evolving. I absorbed it all, the tiny, unnoticed moments—the shopkeeper arranging flowers at the entrance, the elderly man sipping tea by the roadside, the quiet energy of people just living.
The reason why I went to Talat Noi was because I wanted to visit Hong Sieng Kong café—a place that had been on my Bangkok checklist for so long. The location of the café is really nice and strategic, literally beside the Chao Phraya River. Boats were rushing past, people were going about their daily lives, and yet, the café itself felt like a peaceful bubble, untouched by the city’s chaos.
Despite the Bangkok heat making me question my life choices, the atmosphere was incredibly calming. And without even realizing it, I had spent two hours there. Just sitting, just being. Time felt different, stretched and soft, like I had stepped into a pocket of the world where everything slowed down. When I finally got up to leave, I found myself standing still for a moment longer, agreeing with reality.
After leaving Hong Sieng Kong café, I continued exploring Talat Noi. The area was a maze of small alleyways, each one leading to something new—a hidden mural, a famous café, an open gallery sharing the history of the neighborhood. There was even a tiny museum along the way, tucked between old shophouses, quietly preserving pieces of Talat Noi’s past. That morning was hot, but the air had a cooling breeze, making it easy to spend hours just walking, taking pictures of everything that caught my eye. I remember feeling so completely me in that moment. The kind of feeling that hums softly inside you, like a song only you can hear.
After Talat Noi, I went for a quick shopping trip for makeup. Growing up as a quarter-Thai, my mom always bought me Thai beauty products. Now, it was my time to explore them on my own. I decided to go to Beautrium at Square Central. Trust me, the shop was huge. I spent nearly an hour choosing from an overwhelming selection of beauty products, mainly makeup (obviously!), and taking pictures of everything for my mom to pick from. Hahaha. It was such a fun experience, and oh my, the prices? A thousand times cheaper than local products in Malaysia! Everything was such a steal, and I may have gone a little overboard—but no regrets.
After that, I went for an early lunch—another Bangkok checklist item: eating a proper Pad Kra Paw. I found Original Pad Kra Paw 1993, and lucky me, the restaurant was just one street away from my hotel! The food? Mind-blowing. It hit the spot so damn on point, full of flavor and spice just the way I imagined it would be. Plus, the interior of the shop was totally my vibe. Good food, good atmosphere—such a good day.
After lunch, I went back to my hotel to freshen up after being out since morning. Once ready, I headed out to meet my friend at ICONSIAM.
We spent hours catching up, and she took me on a little tour of the place—showing me the biggest Starbucks café,
an incredible view of the Chao Phraya River, and the city skyline from the mall’s viewpoint.
We then stepped outside to watch the water fountain show, which was honestly mesmerizing.
For dinner, we headed to the food floor inside ICONSIAM, where she treated me to boat noodles—and wow, it was so good. I’ve had boat noodles before, but never one that tasted this amazing.
And let’s talk about the mall itself—it was huge, like unbelievably big. Every floor had its own unique vibe, and even the toilets felt luxurious, as if I had just stepped into a five-star hotel.
After dinner, we decided to explore Bangkok at night using water transport—a boat. The breeze, the soft ripples of the river, the lights reflecting on the water, the gentle hum of the boat engine—it was all so peaceful yet alive at the same time. Bangkok truly never sleeps.
We stopped at Asiatique, where we grabbed some drinks, wandered around, and, of course, took a ridiculous amount of pictures. The night felt endless in the best way possible, and I couldn’t have asked for a better way to spend it. I’m beyond grateful to my friend for taking the time to bring me around Bangkok, showing me places I might have never found on my own. She is my first Thai friend, and she has always been so warm and friendly, making every moment even more special. Having someone like her to share these experiences with made the trip unforgettable.
The next day, before heading to explore the temples, I took a short walk around my hotel that morning, searching for a good breakfast spot. Still thinking about last night’s boat noodles, I was in luck—I found another boat noodle shop that had just opened. The timing was impeccable. I was their first customer of the day, hehehe.
Their boat noodles, though not exactly the same as the one from the night before, were still delicious and absolutely mouthwatering. And as a bonus, they played music in the restaurant. The moment I sat down and took a bite, I realized I actually knew some of the songs they were playing. Hahaha. I’ve always loved Thai music—I even have a dedicated playlist for it. So there I was, eating my boat noodles, hearing music I recognized, and for some reason, I felt like I belonged.
Wat Arun and Wat Pho welcomed me with open arms. Quiet places heal me. I let my feet guide me, walking slowly, admiring the details, the carvings, the history. There was something deeply grounding about it. I never expected my mind to feel so at peace just by being surrounded by centuries of culture.
As I stood before the great Buddha statues, I felt something shift inside me. The stillness of the temples, the way people bowed with devotion, the scent of incense hanging in the air—it was all so humbling. I wasn’t just looking at Buddha; I was looking at a reflection of something deeper within myself. A reminder that peace isn’t found in the absence of struggle but in learning how to sit with it, to accept it, to breathe through it.
I also silently prayed there. Not to the statue in front of me, but to the god within me. In that moment, it wasn’t about seeking answers from something outside of myself—it was about listening, about trusting, about understanding that everything I needed was already within.
For the first time, I understood why people seek solace in Buddhism. It’s not about perfection, not about getting rid of pain—it’s about making peace with it. About knowing that everything changes, everything passes, and yet, in the present moment, we can still find stillness. That realization hasn’t left me since. It lingers in the way I approach life now, in the way I try to be softer with myself, in how I remind myself to just be.
I stood there, breathing it in, letting my heart settle into the stillness.
At the end of my exploration in Wat Pho, the sky suddenly opened up, and it began raining so hard that I was forced to take shelter within the temple grounds. I found myself sitting beneath a row of Buddha statues, surrounded by silence, as the rain poured from the roof, hitting the clay floor in a steady rhythm.
It was just me. No one else around. Just the rhythmic symphony of rain meeting earth, the golden statues standing in silent witness, and something in the air—an energy, a presence, a force beyond words. It felt grand, as if the universe itself had orchestrated this moment just for me. Like an answer whispered through time, responding to a question I hadn’t even dared to form. In that solitude, beneath the watchful gaze of Buddha, I felt infinite.
And then there was the feeling of standing in the outside world, truly outside of everything I’ve ever known. Where everything is white, and my hands can paint any color I like. Where I can finally be comfortable in my own skin, my own life. Where I can breathe as deep as I need to, without fear, without hesitation. My racing mind and my heart—side by side, finally in sync. I never knew travel could feel like this. I never knew I could feel like this.
After finishing my exploration of the temple grounds, I stepped outside, feeling the weight of history still lingering in my mind. That was also my first time entering a temple. And somehow, I felt like I belonged. I felt calm.
To quench my thirst after hours of strolling through the temple vicinity, I decided to find a good air-conditioned café to cool myself down. I stumbled upon this cute little ice cream café, serving local flavors of ice cream and smoothies. It was good—café standard—but the moment I sat down was what truly made it special. Sitting there, sipping my smoothie, licking my spoon of ice cream sorbet, I felt invigorated after my time at the Buddhist temple.
Something inside me shifted. Something opened in me. Something sat with me. It wasn’t just the relief from the heat—it was a realization, a deepening of my connection with Buddhism. I wasn’t just learning about it anymore; I was feeling it. The sense of impermanence, of acceptance, of simply being. It was as if a door inside me had quietly unlocked, letting in a presence I had always known was there but had never fully embraced.
I didn’t feel judged. I felt at ease. There was no tension, no weight pressing on me—just an openness, a space where I could exist as I was. It wasn’t about seeking something outside of myself, but rather, recognizing something that had always been within me. It was peace, not given, but discovered. Sitting there, sipping my smoothie, licking my spoon of ice cream sorbet, I felt a quiet sense of belonging, as if something in the universe had gently whispered, You are exactly where you need to be.
And then, the night came alive.
After a whole day of exploring, I went back to my hotel, freshened up, and got ready for Bangkok’s nightlife. As usual, I took a Grab bike for it—and oh my god, I felt so alive. The rush of weaving through the streets, the city lights flashing past, the hum of Bangkok’s nightlife wrapping around me—it was exhilarating.
Bangkok at night is a different world. Lights flicker, laughter echoes, the city hums with energy. Yet even in all that chaos, there was a quietness in my soul, a kind of peace I hadn’t felt in years. Maybe it was the way the city breathed, how every street had its own pulse, or how the neon lights reflected on the damp pavement like stars scattered on the ground. I walked with no destination, just letting my thoughts drift with me, carried by the rhythm of the city. Quiet thoughts, calm soul.
One of my bucket list experiences in Bangkok was to try their curated beer at a local bar. And I did just that. The bar I ended up in was completely spontaneous—I hadn’t planned to go there, but somehow, I stumbled upon it along the way. Turns out, it was called Tao Pip Hop Bar Project, a hidden gem tucked away in Sathorn, a bit on the outskirts of the city center. It was one of those moments where the universe just places you exactly where you need to be. The place was filled with locals, no tourists in sight, and even the owner of the bar thought I was Thai! Hahaha, which, to be fair, happens to me a lot.
The owner even started chatting with me despite some hiccups in communication, but somehow, everything felt so effortlessly cute. I ended up drinking three beers, and before I knew it, the owner was offering me two or three shots for free—hahaha! By the end of the night, I was feeling a little tipsy, and even my Grab bike driver couldn’t stop laughing at me. Bangkok really knows how to treat a guest.
Ending my night at the bar, I knew the next morning was the day I was supposed to fly back to Malaysia. I woke up early, feeling the weight of my last few hours in Bangkok. Instead of rushing, I decided to take it slow and explore one last time. I wandered around my hotel area, drawn to the small stalls I had passed by so many times. The morning was misty and refreshing, the kind of air that makes you pause just to breathe it in.
That morning, before heading to the airport, I still remember stumbling upon a tiny alleyway where an old couple was selling noodle soup. The menu was written entirely in Thai, and I didn’t understand a single word. So, in the most universal language possible, I just pointed at the topmost item on the board and held up one finger—hahaha. Thank god they understood, or else I might have had to learn Thai on the spot! The old man smiled, nodded, and got to work, while I sat there, soaking in the morning air, excited for whatever was about to be served.
After breakfast, the three of us headed back to the airport to catch our flight back to Malaysia. I was sitting at the end seat in the car, while both of my friends were drop-dead asleep—lol. And there I was, staring out of the window, watching Bangkok pass by. The sky, the buildings, the people, all blurring together like a dream.
As the Grab driver cruised along the highway, I almost felt like I was in a coming-of-age movie. Thinking back on all the emotions I had felt, all the memories I had made, all the new things that had sparked my eyes with wonder. That moment—that silent moment—felt like a warm embrace, a quiet acknowledgment of everything this trip had given me.
But the real moment—the one I’ll never forget—happened when I boarded my flight back home.
I was crying when the flight was taking off. Not because of the memories I had made, but because of the woman I had become. The woman who had endured, who had gone through pain after pain, hardship after hardship, all on her own. If my past self—the tiny, scared little girl I once was—could see me now, she wouldn’t believe it. She would say all of this was impossible. She would say, I was never strong enough to get through everything.
But look at her now. Thriving, living, loving, and free.
I cried because I did it. I cried because now I know how strong I can be. I cried because I did what I once thought was impossible. I cried because I used to fear loneliness, and now I love my own company. I cried because the battle I fought for so long is finally one I am winning.
And now, I know—it’s not about where I should be. It’s about where my heart wants to be.
This trip wasn’t just about Bangkok. It was about freedom, about self-discovery, about proving to myself that I am capable of anything. It was about taking flight—not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.
And for the first time in a long, long time—I felt like I was flying.
Comments
Post a Comment