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Amsterdam
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Some journeys are not just about the place. They are about proving to yourself that your life still belongs to you.
You do not need to be rich to have memories that money cannot buy. You just need to say yes ā even when your wallet is saying maybe.
We almost did not go. My husband had EMIs to pay. I had a school meeting lined up for the kids. My mother-in-law had a doctor’s appointment that we were supposed to accompany her to. The list of reasons to stay home was longer than the list of things to pack.
But then one evening, after the kids were asleep and the house was finally quiet, I opened an old photo album. There was a picture of me ā maybe 23 years old ā standing on a hilltop somewhere in the Genting Highlands, arms wide open, like the whole sky belonged to me. I barely recognised that girl. When did she become so careful? So responsible? So… stuck?
That night, I booked the trip.
Our budget was tight ā we are not the family that does five-star hotels and business class tickets. We are the family that searches for promo codes at midnight, packs home-cooked food in Tupperware for the road, and counts the parking fees as part of the holiday expenses. Sound familiar?
We drove to Fraser’s Hill. Not Bali. Not Japan. Not even Langkawi. Just a cool, misty hill station two and a half hours from home. And yet ā the moment we turned off the main highway and the trees closed in around us and the temperature dropped and my son pressed his face against the car window and whispered “Mama, it looks like a movie” ā I felt something loosen inside my chest.
That is what travel does. Even a small trip. Even two days. It pulls you out of your own story long enough for you to remember that your story is bigger than your routine.
Children do not remember the price of the hotel room. They remember the night you played cards by candlelight when the power went out at the guesthouse.
Let me be honest, because that is what this blog is for. We spent around RM 600 for the whole weekend. Two nights in a small, clean guesthouse. Meals at a local kopitiam and one slightly fancy dinner where we let the kids order whatever they wanted ā which turned out to be chicken chop and a shared chocolate sundae. We hiked a trail. We fed the birds. We sat on the veranda and did absolutely nothing for one whole afternoon.
What it gave back? My husband stopped talking about work. My daughter told me ā on the way home, while I thought she was sleeping ā “Mama, I want us to go again.” My son said the mist looked like a cloud decided to come down for a visit.
No five-star hotel gives you that. That comes from showing up.
I know what it feels like to postpone your dreams because of responsibilities. The car needs servicing. Your parents need support. The kids need new school shoes. There is always something. Always. And I am not here to tell you to be reckless or ignore reality. That would be dishonest.
But I am here to tell you this ā the trip will never have a perfect time. The money will never feel completely free. The to-do list will never be fully cleared. You have to go anyway. With whatever you have. To wherever you can reach. Because every single time you do, you come back a little more like yourself.
My dreams are not dead. They are just rescheduled. I still want to see the rice terraces of Bali. I want to walk through the old streets of Penang with nowhere to be. I want to one day stand at the edge of a mountain with my grown-up children and say ā remember when we started? Remember Fraser’s Hill?
Travel does not require a big budget. It requires a decision. The decision that your happiness is also part of the family budget.
If you are reading this on your phone right now, probably after the kids are asleep and the dishes are done ā hello. I see you. You are doing so much, for so many people, every single day.
Go somewhere. Even somewhere small. Even just for one night. Because you deserve to be a person, not just a role.
With love from a fellow dreamer ā who is still dreaming, still going, one small trip at a time.
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