3 & 4 June 2025
I may still not like this hostel very much — it feels cramped, dark, and a little claustrophobic — but I’ve started to realize it isn’t all that bad. The shock of going from a month of wide-open beaches to a tiny enclosed room hit me harder than expected, especially after days of broken sleep.
Fabrice, originally from France, has been nothing but kind. He’s been traveling the world with his twelve-year-old son, living out of a room even smaller than mine with even fewer possessions. I take my hat off to them — their simplicity is inspiring.
Chaimah, too, has been warm and helpful, patiently showing me the ropes at reception. The system is simple, and I already feel confident managing it on my own. My shifts start at 9 am and are usually very quiet. I check guests out around noon, check in one or two new arrivals, and in between have hours free for writing, studying, and planning. The manager doesn’t mind, as long as the guests are happy and the books balance.
The hostel itself may not be my favorite, but its location is unbeatable. Nestled in the heart of Bukit Bintang, the famous Jalan Alor food market is just around the corner, while nearby streets overflow with bars, pubs, and restaurants. Even the little Indian fusion bistro at the hostel entrance is always buzzing with life. Inside, it’s quiet — outside, it’s electric.
Tonight I joined Ceylan, a fellow Worldpackers traveler, and Eric, a friend I’d first met back on the island, for a food adventure. Ceylan had planned to volunteer on the island but couldn’t get transport because of the holiday rush, so she’s staying near the city until she can. Eric was meant to leave by 4:30 to avoid traffic, but we fell so deep into conversation over coffee that he decided to stay and join us for dinner instead.
I love this market. I’d been here before, and it still feels like stepping into a living kaleidoscope — vibrant colors, sizzling pans, smoky air, and endless arrays of dishes. Fruits of all shapes and sizes, strange sea creatures, chicken feet, things fried, roasted, boiled, and skewered. Mochi, fluffy pancakes, and durian everywhere.
As we wandered and tasted, sharing travel stories and life experiences, I had one of those divine moments of alignment — the kind that hits you straight in the heart. Here we were: three strangers from three different worlds, weaving our energies together, harmonizing vibrations, sharing truths and longings. These little connections, these micro-moments of love and purpose, are what change the world.
When Ceylan left early, Eric and I continued exploring, eventually stopping for a beer. I almost never drink, but tonight felt like the right night to share a drink with a new friend. The street was alive — neon lights flashing, music blaring, crowds surging in every direction. Bars aren’t usually my space, but we found a spot to sit, still deep in conversation.
By now, I had slipped fully into what I call god mode. My energy naturally does what I know so well: it reaches into the heart of whoever I’m with, holding space for buried emotions to surface and transform. Often people share things they didn’t plan to — painful memories, secret truths, long-carried burdens. And I simply listen, hold the space, offer gentle love, and guidance where I can.
Even here, in the loudest street in KL, divine work was happening. The chaos faded into background noise as the space between us became sacred. By the time we finally said goodnight at 1 am, a firm friendship had formed, and we’d already made plans to meet again.
