I saw an old couple sitting side by side facing Xihu, watching the lanterns float by. They did not speak. She leaned her head on his shoulder and his arm was around her waist. With the cane in his right hand, he stood up with great difficulty and then supported his wife using his left. It was not romance - it was companionship, strengthened by time. It reminded me what lasting love looks like.

At Lijiang, I watched a calligrapher as he stood writing the Chinese word for “home” - 家. His hand trembled slightly, but the strokes were strong and certain. I asked how long he has been honing his craft. He smiled and said, “All my life, and I am still trying to write it well.” I realized that maybe we are all the same – kindred spirits learning to make sense of what home meant in our hearts.

The laughter of four elderly resonated in the wind as they played mahjong. Beside them, ladies practiced taichi, swaying their arms gracefully and moving their feet in unison. Nearby, others bent over tables practicing calligraphy with brushes steady as heartbeats, their ink-strokes celebrating Tang poems of yesteryears. For a brief moment, I was part of a culture thousand of years in the making.

Oh yes! One perfect evening, returning from dinner, we saw tiny blue lights dancing on the beach. Experiencing bioluminescent plankton for the first time, I felt the quiet, magical power of nature. The glow shimmered before our eyes, as it has for ages.
The next day, we took a catamaran trip and saw even more glowing waters. Thank you, Dhawa Ihuru, for this wonder and for protecting our planet.

While exploring one of the nearby villages at Buahan, a child handed me a half-eaten bun, sticky and warm. When I hesitated, his grandma smiled and said, “He is learning how to share.” That small act stirred something within me. I have always thought giving was born from abundance - but maybe it simply means offering what we love, freely and with happiness, without expecting anything in return.

A padi farmer at Ubud was soaking his feet in a basin of warm water, his soles a brutal landscape of calluses and cracked skin. This changed my understanding of journey from a romantic idea to that of a physical, painful truth. Every grain we eat, every path we take, is paved by someone else’s sacrifice and perseverance, and now, I tread more purposefully in life with an attitude of gratitude.

I learnt to embrace the beauty of slowness. In Hangzhou, I watched life unfold not in rushing from place to place but in the deliberate, graceful movements of a tea master warming his cups and the slow paddling of a boat on Xihu. It was a masterclass in patience, reminding my hurried soul that the most beautiful things - friendship, trust, a perfect cup of tea - cannot be rushed.

Never lose hope!

Remember the hands that poured your drinks, the smiles that needed no translation, the tales that were shared, and the kindness that made the world feel warm and wholesome again. When life grows bitter and throws lemons at you, hold on to those moments that served as a reminder that your faith in humanity was once restored by strangers who asked for nothing in return.

By the sea, surrounded by mountains and beautiful Arabic architecture that transported us into a tale from One Thousand and One Nights, we realized life isn’t about counting hours, but about living moments. Spending two nights in this peaceful oasis taught us the importance of pausing, breathing, and enjoying the present. Life is short, and sharing it with those you love most makes it infinite.