How Travel has Defined My Life

On the eve of my 26th birthday, ET asked me what are the 25 most significant moments of my life. The question really caught me off-guard, and I paused for quite a while before answering, because really, how do you even begin answering a question like that?

And so I took a trip down memory lane in reverse chronology. The most immediate answer was our wedding in June, his proposal, the day we got together, the day I had to say goodbye to my friends in New York… Along the way, I revisited many treasured memories. Quite a few, sadly, were made with people that I no longer keep in touch with. Others revolved around bad decisions, encapsulating moments where I would have done things very differently if given a second chance. As I searched my memory for the most enduring moments, it almost felt like my life was flashing before my eyes.

What was extremely striking to both of us after I had gone through the list is how so many of these moments have been associated with travel. It was also surprising that the conventional milestones (apart from the wedding) didn’t end up on the list at all – receiving my O and A level results, my graduation from NYU, the first day I started teaching, getting my first promotion – these all took a huge backseat in terms of significance, even though at some point in time, the achievement of these things were a big part of my life.

What stood out, instead, were the moments I felt so weak. The first night of the Outward Bound Korea Expedition on Odaesan Mountain, where I had struggled for 13 hours of trekking in sub-zero temperatures with a 20kg backpack, not knowing if I would ever reach that elusive mountain hut. When I finally got there, I was so overwhelmed that I hugged my friend, K, and cried. That night, I remember clutching a cup of hot milo, watching the moon race across the skies with the clouds, still in disbelief that I had survived long enough to reach my destination. I remember the trek up Colca Canyon, not knowing this time if W would make it with his lips turning blue, wondering why the steps had to be half our height and why the mule never arrived. But then I learnt that as long as I continue putting one foot in front of another, eventually I can cover great distances and heights.

I also remember the times I was rendered speechless. Stepping onto the surreal landscape of Toro Muerto, where thousands of ancient petroglyphs are scattered haphazardly across a field of white volcanic sand, was the first time I truly felt I was out of this world. Or that Christmas we stayed at the lakehouse in Upstate New York, where we lay on the frozen lake after dinner with yet another flask of Milo and just gazed at the gorgeous star-littered sky. And last June, on a different lake this time, sitting on my giant inflatable arm chair and floating in the middle of Lake Seneca, feeling so at peace and in awe of the view that stretched before me.

There were also the moments I felt so vulnerable. Travel creates impermanence; it puts your friendships at risk, it makes you fall in love despite knowing that a break-up is inevitable at some point. I will always remember the first time I left Singapore for New York and was surrounded by 30 of my closest friends and family. That was also the first time I saw my Ah Ma tear, and how (being the iron woman that she is) she was trying to hold it back. My greatest fear those 4 years was of not being able to be there if something happened to her. Yet, somewhat ironically, I was absolutely miserable when I had to leave my friends in New York, and the night of my farewell I cried buckets, barely making it through the song I had written for them. Again and again, I’ve felt that familiar ache saying goodbye -from the adorable kids from Flora Tristan and later Kampong Speu, to the wonderful Couchsurfing hosts, and the inspiring fellow travellers, knowing despite all the promises made, that that would probably be the last I see of them.

I am ever appreciative of how my parents instilled this love for travel in me from a young age. So many of our wonderful memories as a family has revolved around the funny incidents that have happened while on holiday, like the time my mum and I sat on a sand board together, and in a bid to avoid a bush, she dug her hands into the sand to e-brake and we ended up flying through the sand, with me open-mouthed and her landing on top of me. That was my first understanding of the term “face-plant”. Or the time my brother and I had a competition to build the biggest snowball in Switzerland, and although I don’t remember who actually won, what is enduring is how we laughed ourselves breathless looking like two fools trying to carry two huge balls of snow on the way back to the hotel.

And it dawned upon me – isn’t it funny how our achievements rarely end up being moments of significance? Instead it’s the small things, the unexpected surprises that take your breath away, and the times you’ve doubted yourself the most that tend to leave the deepest impressions. I suspect this is why I love travel so much – being in a foreign land, out of my comfort zone, and in a place where people are unlikely to recognize me just makes me a little crazier, a little bolder, and a lot richer.  It has forced me to change my perspective so many times, to stand corrected and humbled, and it has brought out the best and worst in me. And as I turn 26, I hope it is not too selfish to wish for many more moments of weakness, vulnerability and speechlessness.