I Can See the Life I Want — Now I’m Giving Myself a Year to Reach It

I miss the airport. Wholefully in my heart, I really miss the airport.

Not the plane. Not the destination. Just the airport. That in-between space. The floating. The waiting. The quiet rush. The freedom. It always makes me feel like everything that has been weighing me down... lifted. As if all the heavy, hard feelings just stay outside the glass doors. Inside, it’s just me. Calm. Light. Free.

And now, with this feeling, I realise something. The gaps between my travels—they’re getting shorter. And every trip, it feels like I need it more and more. It’s not a treat anymore. It’s a reset. A breath. A survival tool.

And what if one day, the gaps are gone? What if this isn’t just a phase? What if the life I need is a life on the move? Not just travelling once in a while, but fully. Full-time.

What if all I want is to be able to stay somewhere for as long as I need to, without having to worry about returning? What if there’s nothing left to go back to? Life moves forward. And maybe, so do I.

I wrote about that moment before — when I took a flight and found myself instead. Not in a dramatic way, but quietly, slowly. It was the first time I noticed how travel made me feel alive again.

I read something a few days ago. It said the body knows way faster than the mind. Like how our bodies struggle to wake up for corporate work. Tired. Heavy. Slow. But on the days we don’t have to go to work—suddenly we wake up fresh. Sometimes even earlier. Why? Because the body knows. But the mind will keep tricking us—saying it’s just Monday blues, or not enough sleep. But deep down, the body already knows the truth.

As much as I love my life, I must admit: I hate what I’m doing with it right now. I’m not living. I’m surviving. I’m doing what I need to do to stay afloat, but this isn’t the life I imagined for myself.

And yes, I’m scared. Scared of not having backup. Of not having enough money. Of having debt. If I could leave all of this and travel the world, earning a little here and there, I would. I really would. But I’m scared. The what-ifs are loud.

I have a boss. He’s a real workaholic. Last week, he was supposed to be in Langkawi with his family. Something happened and they had to cut the trip short—came back to KL two days early. The next day, he was already at the office. On a day he should’ve been with his family, he chose to come to work. He sends me emails even at night. I don’t reply after hours, and he respects that. But it just makes me wonder— Is his whole life just work? Is that really it? And he’s still in his late 30s.

I don’t judge it. Truly. I don’t believe any life choice is wrong. Not workaholism. Not marriage. Not single life. Not travel. People find meaning in different things. Some people find their soul in marriage. In building a home. In being rooted. Me? I feel caged in those things. Marriage to me feels like being tied down. Locked in. But again—it’s not wrong. It’s just not mine.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most right now. I can see the life I want. So clearly. So vividly. But I can’t reach it yet. And that makes me feel a little pity for my own soul. Like she’s been waiting for me to choose her.

How do I leave this life behind? How do I start walking on my own path? I wish I could take a year off. A gap year. To figure myself out. To try the life I’ve been dreaming of. To see if it fits me. If it’s sustainable. If I can live with it—and in it.

Right now, all I want is to travel for a year, without the pressure of knowing work is waiting. Without having to return. Just go. And along the way, find a way to make enough money. But the truth is, I can’t just work overseas. It’s illegal. So I don’t know. I really don’t know.

I even secretly wished I’d get laid off. That maybe if I got removed from this job, I’d finally have an excuse to chase the life I want. But nope. Instead, I got a salary increment. Just my luck. I guess I’m too good at what I do.

I feel like I’ve taken so many steps already. But I’m still here. I don’t know what the next step is anymore.

I talked to my stepdad. He told me to stay for another year. Just one more year. Clear the debt. Save money. Prepare. Then quit. Then go.

That means by June next year, I will leave. June 2026. That’s my line.

So I have one year. One year to clear my debt. One year of not buying any big purchases. One year to build my dream entrance. One year to save as much money as I can. One year to prepare myself for the life I’ve always wanted. It’s already August. I only have 10 months left.

Is it normal to feel this scared? To feel like my heart is constantly being clenched? Tight? Is it normal to doubt? To wonder? To ask—will I really be able to do this?

Because I’m scared. But I’m also ready. Scared and ready. At the same time. And maybe that’s a start.

If this post spoke to you, you might also want to read “I Took a Flight and Found Myself Instead” — a reflection from the moment I first realised travel was more than just movement. It was memory. Healing. And a quiet return to myself. And maybe in those flinch of moments, you will understand why I feel what I feel.