Stories & Updates

I never meant to collect stories. I just wanted to see what was out there. But somewhere between missed trains and long flights, I realized travel wasn’t just about where I went. It was about who I became each time I arrived. 

I will, more than likely, unfortunately only remember to update stories from time to time. 

In 2021, I left the United States alone and unaware of what was to come for the first time in my entire life, at 22 years old. I was never the spontaneous or outgoing kid. Rather, I stood close to my mother's side, afraid to look into an unfamiliar face's eyes. Now, she often tells our friends and strangers that she has no idea where I came from, referencing the sudden shift in demeanor and newfound bravery.

At some point in my early twenties, I decided I was no longer going to live my life in fear, unaware of the adrenaline that comes from doing something that terrifies you. I was not going to miss out on life. So, with tears in my eyes one cold December afternoon, I said my goodbyes and boarded my first international flight.

When I arrived, hundreds of taxi drivers crowded the exit gate, waving their hands and calling out destinations. The air smelled like exhaust and heat. For a moment, I froze, until the familiar face of the man who would be my employer appeared in front of me, grounding me in a place that already felt impossibly far from home.

This is not about Cairo or even my first international experience. It is about what came after, the quiet moments that reminded me how little control we have over what happens next.

I remember the rain in Cairo. Everyone said it never really rains there. The city is too dry, too loud, too set in its rhythm. But it rained often, in unexpected bursts that washed the streets and cooled the air. The rain stopped the dust that was usually everywhere without letting it settle in the air. It was refreshing. I stood outside and watched water pool beneath the yellow glow of the streetlights, listening to strangers who ran for cover while the city air settled around them.

There was far more rain than I ever expected, and I was shocked, but in that surprise, I recognized something true. Life rarely unfolds the way we imagine, yet sometimes the unexpected is better than anything we could plan. I never expected to leave home, much less to travel to 39 countries. Yet here I am, writing these words from Taipei in my second year in Taiwan and third year (going on fourth) abroad, feeling a quiet joy I could not have predicted. Life is full of surprises, and most of the time, it is quietly, beautifully good.

I did not expect Okinawa to remind me of home. The water was clearer, the air saltier, and the language unfamiliar, yet something about it felt close to what I knew. I had gone to meet a few people I first met in Taipei, who happened to be friends with someone from my small town in Alabama. I met that friend through another friend who shared my name. The world felt impossibly small in the best way.

The people I met in Okinawa were the most hospitable I have ever known. I left that trip with a deeper appreciation for kindness, especially coming from Alabama, where people pride themselves on southern charm. In the South, kindness is often expected, part of the culture and the way we are raised. In Okinawa, it felt effortless. Their warmth was not about manners or appearances. It was quiet, genuine, and full of heart.

One night, they took me to a small traditional restaurant. We sat cross-legged around a low table while musicians played songs I had never heard before. Before long, everyone was on their feet, running in circles to the rhythm of the drums. Locals laughed and pulled us into the dance. For a moment, I forgot that we came from different places and spoke different languages. It felt like being home, but lighter, freer, more open.

When the music ended and it was time to leave, I learned that it was customary to bow deeply to show appreciation. I bowed as deeply as I could, hoping they would understand what I could not put into words. We still keep in touch and write letters. It remains one of my favorite trips, a reminder that kindness speaks every language and that sometimes, you have to leave home to understand what home really means.