I’m sitting at the Night Bazaar intersection, waiting for Loren. When we parted in Pai, we held each other tight. I first met Loren at a hostel in Pai, she’s from New Zealand, two years younger than me. We clicked immediately that morning when I checked into my room. I spent the remaining days in Pai wandering around with Loren. Actually, I had already explored Pai a bit when I was at Tacomepai. Loren is tall, with chestnut brown hair and deep ocean-blue eyes. Her biggest dream is to have a tiny home on wheels and travel the world.

I still remember that afternoon vividly. Loren ran up to my bed and asked if she should go get drunk or take a walk to calm down. Her face showed panic, and tears threatened to spill from the corners of her eyes. I froze for a moment, unsure of what was happening. I took Loren’s hand and said it would be best for her to go for a walk, and if she needed someone to listen or just sit in silence with her, to let me know. Loren nodded and stepped outside. I hoped that breathing the fresh air would bring her some peace.

Thanks for saving me…

A little while later, Loren came back. She asked if I could talk with her for a bit. We leaned against the backrest of the long bamboo chair on the balcony behind the room and shared our stories. I love this place because it’s always quiet, the dorm room spacious and made of bamboo and wood. Right outside the door, the Pai River flows gently, slowly. That afternoon, we talked about everything. I told Loren about Dalat, about Pai, and she told me why she came here and why she chose to travel alone. It turned out we had more in common than I expected. Loren is a head taller than me, but inside, she still carries the innocence of a child, sensitive to the emptiness she hoped this solo trip could fill. After hours of conversation, Loren hugged me again and whispered, “Thanks for saving me.”

Later, after returning to her bed for a short rest while waiting for the sun to soften, Loren invited me to go somewhere. Neither of us had plans for that afternoon, so I decided to go with her to Mor Paeng Waterfall, about seven or eight kilometers from the hostel. She wanted to soak in the cool water.

I returned to Chiang Mai a day before Loren. According to her itinerary, she would go back to Chiang Mai and then on to Laos, while I would probably wander Chiang Mai for a few more days.

Back in Chiang Mai, once again amidst the clamor of traffic and the flow of people.
My hostel in Chiang Mai was a little over a kilometer from the Old City. This return trip wasn’t too bad/ I made sure to eat properly and bought a ticket for the front row, right next to the driver. According to the map, the bus station was about 3 km from the hostel, so I thought I could walk. I hoisted my backpack and started making my way toward the hostel. Probably overconfident, the further I walked, the farther I seemed to drift from my destination. It was 3 PM, the sun blazing hot, and I realized I was punishing myself foolishly. If I had taken a taxi, I’d have been at the hostel an hour ago. But here I was…

Sitting and resting at a bus stop, a songthaew pulled up and asked where I was headed. After a moment’s hesitation, I decided to hop on rather than continue my trek. Finally, I found the hostel. Honestly, after days surrounded by vast mountains, in Dalat, Tacomepai, or Pai, everything felt so comfortable. So when the receptionist handed me the locker key and led me into the room, I was slightly shocked, more like disappointed. The dorm room was tiny, four concrete walls closing me in; I could hardly breathe. I knew city life would be different from the open, peaceful mountain air, but I hadn’t expected it to feel this confining. I wasn’t prepared for the tight, bustling streets. I wished I had stayed a few more days in Tacomepai…

But there’s no truly “good” or “bad” choice. Hopefully, the next few days in Chiang Mai wouldn’t be too terrible. Too exhausted to think much, I checked in and climbed into bed, sleeping soundly until evening. Today was Yi Peng festival (the very reason I had left Pai early). I didn’t see many people at the hostel, probably everyone else had gone out to release lanterns. After showering, I stepped outside, heading toward the glowing lights floating up into the night sky. I found the lantern release spot, where everyone was gently tending to their paper lanterns. The air was full of excitement and warmth.

The silent stars

For a moment, I felt adrift, like a lonely planet suspended in a vast universe, surrounded by too many faces. I stood there, gazing up at the sky, watching each lantern rise gently into the night. How many people had tucked their wishes into those glowing orbs? How many had let go of their burdens as the lanterns slipped from their hands? I returned to the hostel early, planning to grab some snacks and sit by the riverside hut for a while, but the 7-Eleven was far busier than I expected.

That evening, I spoke with a friend. I told them that after all these days wandering, I sometimes feel tired. But I’ve learned more about myself. I realized that spending an entire year on solo journeys isn’t truly what I desire. I crave solitude, yet I also long for conversation, for someone to listen. I long for a place to return to, to leave from, and to simply be. I realized that, all along, there has never been a place where I fully belong. Being alone can feel frightening. Yet perhaps I still need to wander more, to discover where I truly fit.

Early the next morning, I received a message from Loren. She said she would be back in Chiang Mai that afternoon, and her schedule had changed, so she would be staying a few extra days. We made plans to meet for dinner and a walk. Though we had parted just yesterday, seeing Loren again in this unfamiliar city felt like reuniting with an old, dear friend after years apart.

“You’re different. Just stay the way you are.”

The next afternoon, Loren invited me to wander the old city together. We met at the Night Bazaar intersection, a little over a kilometer from my hostel. Vendors were busy preparing their stalls for the evening market. That day was a weekend, and we had Pad Thai and coconut ice cream at the Sunday Market. The streets gradually filled with people as the temperature cooled. Stalls displayed all sorts of tiny, charming things. If this had been the past, I might have wanted to take all of it home. But now, simply observing was enough. The only thing I wanted to buy was a small jingle bell. I had dropped the bell Linh gave me on my birthday, probably on the bus to Pai. I tried to find a similar one at the market but in vain. Meanwhile, Loren had picked out a few treasures for her two younger brothers.

After hours weaving through the old city, sweat soaking our clothes, we escaped to the riverside by Tha Phae Gate to enjoy the cool breeze. When we parted, Loren said, “Thuy, you’re different. Just stay the way you are.”

Loren got her first tattoo in Pai – a sun. She showed it to me, saying she wanted to always remain optimistic and shine like the sun, no matter the hardships of life. My tattoo, on the other hand, is a star, a solitary planet, awake every night, quietly listening to the stories of the world.

Just be,

Excerpt from Travel Journal – Chiang Mai, November 2018