Travel Stories

My backpack got wedged in the airport carousel, but I didn't notice until a security guard gently pried me out from behind the luggage to return a misplaced iPhone. We exchanged awkward smiles, and I rushed off to collect my actual belongings before grabbing a train – the one heading directly into chaos.

As we careened through a rain-soaked market in a rickety three-wheeled cart driven by my cousin, I felt an inexplicable sense of exhilaration, our waterlogged faces glistening under flickering neon signs advertising fried insects and questionable beauty products. My mom had just given me a pair of battered headphones and told me to listen.

I woke up in a small hostel room in Tokyo, my mind foggy from last night's Karaoke adventure. Today was my last day in Japan – a country that had bewitched me with its vibrant colors, eclectic food, and enigmatic people.

I stepped off the train in Tokyo, the neon signs a shock to my system. I'd traded the familiarity of home for an adventure, and I wasn't sure if I'd made a mistake.