Thank You For Being Here


I’ve come to find that life works in funny, cyclical ways. So much of the time, it feels like we are on an ever-winding, tumultuous journey of doubt, confusion and scary life choices. But then sometimes, these hardships are just a twisted way of getting you to where you were always going, revealing things about yourself that you always knew but didn’t want to accept.



From a young age, I had always liked telling stories.

Writing exercises in kindergarten were just a chance to flex my prose skills and fill my workbooks with arbitrary details and subtle asides to my captive audience (or rather, my unfortunate teachers). I used to make these small books out of coloured paper that was stapled down the middle, doing a terrible job to illustrate my stories before handing them out to my friends.

My first dream job was an author or maybe even a journalist so that I could continue to write and share pieces of my imagination or observations of the world.




But we all lose sight of our childhood dreams.

The playfulness of a childhood dream was overtaken with thoughts of capital gain and the need for institutionalised ideas of success. Passions and ideals become melded into the degree, the career, the path that you choose. We started chasing, hustling, being motivated by the money, by the next promotion, the next step in your professional story

So now I’ve made such a point to reject these institutions and take away the power of these ideas of money and promotions from what my next step is. And staring down the barrel of trying to decide what this might be, I’ve found myself going back to basics.

Stripping all the ideas of what a real job is or even what a digital nomad is, what I really want to be is a storyteller.




And I want to start with telling my own story.

Now I am fully aware that I’m not particularly interesting nor is anyone rushing to subscribe or lo and behold give me a book deal. It’s just me and this blog and my amateur iPhone photography tracking through my adventures.

In fact, I’d always rolled my eyes a little at the bloggers who endlessly thanked their followers for their success. Maybe it was the increasing inauthenticity of the highest paid and “followed” influencers. Maybe it was the slight jealousy that they truly seem to be living the life – getting paid in the thousands for a singular post and receiving freebies, sponsorships, free travel.

Besides, I never wrote this blog for it to be of influence to others. Like I said, I was a storyteller and this is where I shared my story. At it’s most basic, it’s given me something to do; a structure to my endless number of free days. But more than that, I was kind of a cliché. I’m that journalism kid/traveller/millennial basic bitch who had a blog and perhaps too much self-righteousness to feel any shame about it.

And to be honest, I never thought I'd have a life worth talking about. I would've never been your first pick to be the one who threw in the towel of corporate life and went travelling first. And yet, somehow I've found myself here.




But I was always scared to share my thoughts.

Even when I wrote here, I would hardly share the posts with people that I knew. I didn’t want them to judge for the fact that I had a blog; or worse, what I wrote in it. I didn’t need everyone to know that I’m actually a bubbling mess despite my conviction to being a boss ass bitch.

Yet it has been a relief to me to be able to admit that I struggle. Particularly at this particular chapter in my life, I know that this isn’t quite the “living the dream” picture we all have. Going through every contradiction that is my thought processes and exploring each dimension of my own confusion has, in turn, helped me clarify things like this – things like what I want to do and why I’m doing it

But what has meant the most has been the random people on the outskirts of my acquaintance (yes, I’m looking at you) that have actually taken the time to read to this point. To think that somehow my ramblings have hit a cord that had been ringing in the back of your head; to think that by letting you into how I’m trying to figure out my identity that you might identifying with it yourself, all I can say is thank you.

Thank you for being here, thank you for reading. Thank you for keeping your judgement to yourself. And thank you for making me feel less alone.