Of Solo Trips and the Curious Case of Being Okay

When people asked me why I wanted so badly to go on a solo trip, I half-jokingly say, soul searching. It always gets them. Haha.

I am naturally, effortlessly, undeniably a positive person. So it’s no surprise that people just think of me as someone un-knockable; just happily coasting thru life. 

Didn’t graduate on time? She’ll figure things out. Lost her dad? It’s tough, but she’ll make it through. Another guy broke her heart? She’ll move on. Work is eating her from the insides? She’ll come out of it alive.

The other half that wasn’t a joke was because I was turning 30 in six months. Like any self-indulgent millennial, I was at that mandatory grueling phase of reviewing my life. Of looking at what I’ve achieved so far. Of self-actualization. Of figuring out my next move. 

I guess I sort of assumed that state - that notion that I’m always okay. I had to be always okay. 

But truth was in the past couple of years, deep inside, I was getting sick. Of everything. 

I was getting sick of my job. I was getting sick of responsibilities, of the unknown. At the same time I was getting bored of the normalcy and predictability of things. I was getting tired of being reminded that in my late 20’s, I’m single. ‘Cause admit it, late 20s is an annoying phase in life to be single - when your friends are starting to get married and having babies. Making adult decisions with their partners. Buying cars together and condos together. And you’re always left thinking you’re being left behind. 

Elon Musk is planning how to get people to Mars, and you're planning how to do all your errands for the weekend. 

Mostly, I was getting scared. Every now and then, you hear the clock ticking. You should be settling down by this time. Tick. You should be earning this much at your age. Tock. You should be having your own car/house by now. Tick. One of your best friends just got engaged. Tock. Your high school classmate just opened a business. Tick.  You should know by now what you want to be doing for the rest of your life. Tock. 

F*ck. 

Seriously. Doesn’t the world have better things to do than remind you that you’re not good enough?

So I booked an 8-day trip to Taiwan, a place that, honestly, was never in my bucket list. (I initially wanted to do Japan last year, but it blew off 'cause my Visa got denied.) It didn’t matter where or how long, I just wanted to get away. 

I wanted to go somewhere nobody knows me. I wanted to be invisible. I wanted to escape from the pressures of Not Making It, of Haven’t Figured Things Out, of What’s Next?, of Everyone Else’s Life is Happening Except Mine.

I wanted to get away. I needed to get away. 

Immigration officer: (checking my Visa) Purpose of travel?
Me: (not flinching) Soul searching.
Immigration officer smiles, puts a stamp on my passport and hands back my documents. 

So I went. 

Away.

For eight days. On my own. For the first time. Where I don't know anybody. That the place doesn’t even speak English, is probably a bonus. 

I hopped from AirBnB to dorms to hotel. I lost my way in streets and alleys, and lost myself in museums and bookstores. I went from scooters, to old railways, to skyscraper elevators. I drank gallons of milk tea and took tons of photos. I learned to read instructions (and actually follow them). I learned that subways systems are awesome, that Taiwan played a role in the Rape of Nanking, and that I don’t like eating alone. I chased trains and city lights. I made new friends, and made out with one. I wandered in old streets and concrete jungles, through hot springs and mining towns. I read, and wrote, and pondered. I walked, and walked, and walked some more. 

In those eight days, I had more time with myself than my entire 29 years.

Where I've been, where I'm off to, and the rain drops in between. 

I’ve always imagined that I was gonna do a full-blown reflection/retreat kind of thing during the trip. I pictured myself returning from the trip in a whole moment of epiphany.  An a-ha moment. Puzzle, solved. Code, cracked. Figured it out, y’all! 

Didn’t happen. 

I guess it doesn’t work the same way it does in movies and Nicholas Sparks’ novels. 

But somehow, I felt like what was supposed happen, happened. Does that make any sense? It’s like I didn’t have to process anything or have a dedicated emo-moment. Somehow, I just knew.

I knew that I’m turning 30 and there’s nothing I can do about it. And that people’s lives will happen before mine and that’s the way it is. It doesn’t make me less of a person, it just makes me, me. 

I knew that at 30, some people will have had it made, and I wouldn’t (at least in my perspective). I knew that friends would be getting married, would be climbing up the corporate ladder and getting titles and earning big bucks, would be having breakthroughs and milestones of all sorts. And that’s the way it is. 

But I also knew that, hey, I’ve had it made in my own ways. I have a stable job that lets me use my talent, pay the bills and make a difference at the same time. I am able to save for a car, able to contribute to my family. I go on dates; some hits, some misses. I do passion projects. I get to travel, I get to write; for money and for fun. I get to do what I love. 

I knew that at 30, I still don’t know where I’m headed. But that doesn’t mean I’m lost. I’m simply finding my way. Feeling my way. Learning my way. And to some extent, choosing my way. I may not know exactly what I want, but I know what I don’t want, and that’s a step. 

I knew that at 30, I’ve accomplished things I’ve set my eyes on; I’ve realized dreams I've only dreamt of before. I wanted a job that does something for the greater good (wrote this in 2012), and now I’m with Unilab Foundation. I wanted to do a project that combines travel and writing (wrote this in 2015), and we put up 3pdiary.com. I ticked off having savings and getting a life insurance from my Adult Things To Do list. 

I knew that at 30, I should be more forgiving towards myself. That I shouldn’t beat myself up too much. That the pressure I get from other people, is just an ugly reflection of the pressure I put upon myself. 

I knew that at 30, I’m not doing such a bad job – and I should tell myself that more often. We should all tell ourselves that more often. 

Do I know where I’m headed? What’s the next move? What’s the ultimate gameplan? Hell, no. But I know God has a plan, and it’s a plan that's a thousand times better than the best one I can come up with myself. I know there's a bigger purpose to be served. 

In the end, the best thing I realized from my solo trip was something I actually knew all along – and this time, I actually believe it: I’m okay.