Woven Roads

Journal Fragments from Vietnam and Thailand

Vietnam was a blur of wind and asphalt, of shifting skies and winding roads. We bought a secondhand motorbike in Hanoi and rode southward to Ho Chi Minh City. The journey was equal parts exhaustion and exhilaration—through narrow alleys and open highways, through the misty hills of Da Lat and the sweeping coastal curves of Hải Vân Pass, where the ocean and mountains seemed to whisper their language.

There was something quietly liberating about watching the country unfold from behind handlebars—no itinerary, no fixed plans, just the rhythm of the engine and the pull of the horizon.

Thailand, in contrast, felt more contained, measured by the timetables of buses and trains, the scripted routes of tourism. Some places felt overly polished, like souvenirs stripped of the fingerprints that once gave them meaning. I found myself craving the spontaneity of Vietnam’s rawness, and in those moments, I deeply appreciated the subtle freedoms I often took for granted in Taiwan.

These notes are less about destinations and more about shifts—of place, of perception, of self. Somewhere between motion and stillness, I realized that even the most fleeting landscapes can leave permanent imprints.

Notes from India and Nepal

A Solitary Journey Inward

This was my very first long solo journey—a pilgrimage not across lands, but through the hidden chambers of my own self. India and Nepal were not just places I visited, but mirrors that reflected the chaos and stillness within me.

Each city, each mountain, each face along the way became part of a quiet dialogue I was having with myself. I learned to be alone without feeling lonely, to be still without guilt, and to listen without needing to respond.

This is a collection of fragments—notes scribbled between train rides and mountain paths, moments that slipped through my fingers but stayed in my heart. Here, in this quiet space, I met myself anew.