7 & 8 June 2025
Most days since I arrived in Malaysia have been pure magic. I’ve loved almost everything — the food, the energy, even the chaos. Even my tiny, prison-like bedroom started to feel less suffocating.
And then, as life often does, the bubble popped.
I’ve been so ecstatic about Jaco arriving in India around the same time I planned to return. We’d made so many plans — talking for hours about what we’d do, how we’d set things up, dreaming of this new chapter together. The excitement was sky-high.
Then came the message.
He won’t be able to resign until his contract ends in December. Leaving earlier would cost him a huge chunk of money, and that simply isn’t worth it. It’s just a few months’ delay, but in this moment, it feels like lifetimes. My heart hit the floor. The disappointment was so deep I couldn’t even cry.
Yes, I know — everything happens in its right time. But sometimes understanding doesn’t quiet the ache. For a second, I just wanted to throw myself onto the floor and scream like a child having a tantrum. Some days, this journey feels like a masterclass in patience.
Life, of course, goes on. I forced myself to make peace with it, however reluctantly. Looking around my tiny room in frustration, I had to do something to take my mind of my aching heart. The space was small and there was simply nothing to work with – no furniture to rearrange, although I was able to move my bed slightly, which created some breathing room. Then inspiration struck: there may be no wardrobe for my clothes, but there’s plenty of space under my bed. So, like a child hiding toys during a half-hearted clean-up, I laid a towel down, folded my clothes neatly into little piles, and slid them underneath. Suddenly, the room felt more open — a small but satisfying victory.
If there’s one thing that makes disappointment easier, it’s food. I still haven’t braved the infamous fresh durian (and I probably won’t), but I did try durian ice cream — surprisingly delicious! Later, I wandered through Petaling Street again, stocking up on more mochi. Those soft, chewy treats dusted with peanut powder — especially the mango and black sesame flavors — are dangerously addictive.
This afternoon, Yasmin and I met up again. We walked over to the Petronas Towers for some photos before heading toward Chinatown. Entering the famous Surya Mall, I was once again underwhelmed. The bright lights and expensive beckoning of too many material things no one really needs, will just never impress me. All malls seem to look exactly the same anyway – although you can clearly see whether a certain mall is catering for middle or upper class shoppers, it is the same mixture of bright displays designed to make you believe you need something, anything, better than what your have right now… Petaling Street itself was underwhelming — overpriced bags, shoes, and T-shirts that all looked the same — but the surrounding streets more than made up for it.
Hidden cafés, quirky shops, and the most striking graffiti art telling stories of an era long gone. Paintings of old; Chinese workers living there every day life in a world that seems very far removed form everything we see around us now. Around the next corner we found a street vendor making the famous beef roti I’d heard so much about. I couldn’t resist. The crispy, flaky dough wrapped around a spicy, savory filling was, without exaggeration, one of the most delicious street foods I’ve ever tasted.
By evening, we were both tired and happy. We headed back to the hostel so Yasmin could rest before heading to the airport for her flight back to Korea. Another brief but beautiful connection — one more thread woven into this ever-growing tapestry of my travels.
