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You know that feeling after you’ve been away for a while, when you sit down with someone who really knows you, and then realize you don’t have a simple answer to: “How was it?”
That’s me.
Sure, I could tell you where we went. I could show you over a thousand photos (literally). I could list everything we saw across Hong Kong, Macau, Taipei, and Okinawa, but it still wouldn’t quite convey what happened.
What I can say is that I’m finally starting to feel like myself again.
This article is intended to provide motivational and inspirational content. However, if you are experiencing thoughts of depression, suicide, or other mental health concerns, please seek help from a qualified professional.
In the United States, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) or text the Crisis Text Line at 741741.
For international emergency care, please visit helpguide.org, which lists global helplines and crisis centers. Remember, support is available, and there is help for those who need it.
What allows a soul to fly when their heart feels six feet under?
Somewhere along the way, that grief from last season released some of its grip.
At the beginning of the trip, I was still carrying everything with me. You know how it is when you’re holding something heavy, and you’ve gotten so used to it that it doesn’t occur to you to set it down—even for a moment? I didn’t expect a trip to make me forget the weight of what I was carrying. I was just trying to show up and keep up.
“I have always believed, and I still believe, that whatever good or bad fortune may come our way, we can always give it meaning and transform it into something of value.”
Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha
We arrived in Hong Kong as the Lunar New Year was unfolding. The entire city felt alive in a way that’s hard to describe unless you’ve experienced it. There’s movement everywhere, people gathering, celebrating, preparing, reconnecting. As a tourist, one might question if it’s performative or staged. Not surprisingly, it’s rich in heritage and still embedded in the traditions of today. There are no outsiders here. You get pulled in simply by being there, with red packets for good fortune being distributed as if limitless.
Letting go...
I remember walking through the streets that first evening and realizing I was energetic. Listening, responding, engaged. It sounds mundane, though it was a polarizing shift from months of feeling withdrawn, fragile, and abandoned. It felt like I was letting go of those oppressive lies and embracing the liberating truth about the circle of life.
I think I was holding onto something, anything, to fill my heart after it had been utterly gutted. Perhaps I was more afraid of the void, as pain remained an old, familiar confidant of mine. To my surprise, I wasn’t empty at all. Serendipitous moments kept embracing me, taking me by complete surprise.
The light is coming.
On my EVA flight, the sunlit sky and buoyant clouds outside my window brought me to heights that looked among the heavens. I couldn’t hold back the silent, steady stream of tears. One of the flight attendants noticed, and instead of turning a polite blind eye, within moments, she was at my side with a pack of tissues and asked if I needed anything. I couldn’t speak, as I was overcome. So, I showed her the memorial charm on my phone lanyard that my dear girlfriends had just gifted me on this trip, along with the screensaver of the most precious love I had ever known, and allowed them to speak for me. Ms. Solphin told me she understood and asked if it was okay to give me a hug. I eagerly nodded and felt a sense of grounding as my sorrow receded. I still have her card because that was a core memory moment.
It wasn’t the only moment like that.
On my last day at the St. Regis in Macau, grief set a place at my table uninvited. I thought I had been discreet and composed myself well enough, but my servers (Asmita, Kaye, and Cindy, whom I had gotten to know that week) stopped by at the right moment. A mimosa was presented on a beautiful platter with flower sprinkles, dried fruit, and a scripted message handwritten in chocolate. As if the surprise tea and biscuits sent to my room earlier that week weren’t enough, the butler had arranged a poolside cabana with a view of the “mini-Las Vegas” strip, and the concierge (I wish I knew them all by name) rescued my guests of honor and me with city transfers. No explanation required, no extra fees, no follow-up. Just sincere acts of care that landed exactly when I needed them.
Temples were vibrant and alive.
Incense thickened the air, amulets brightened every surface, and extended families moved together, making offerings and lingering in fellowship while children set off the unmistakable “CRACK!” of firecrackers. Watching this, I realized people aren’t meant to be alone in shadow. Here, honoring the past and participating in the present existed seamlessly. There’s space for both at the same time.
If Hong Kong, Macau, and Taipei were vivacious, then I’d have to describe Okinawa as an Oasis.
Okinawa was a place that settled into you, and you could feel it gently asking permission. In March, the air out on our private whale watching tour was already warm, the mangrove coastlines appeared to be evergreen, and the slower “island time” pace grounded me after the energy of the Lunar New Year.
The Japanese seem to evoke life into each experience. At the Urashima Dinner Theater, Ryukyuan dancers performed with precision and unbridled joy, generously sharing their culture and art form. A fifteen-course meal was prepared to accommodate our food intolerances, which made me feel invited into a home rather than a performance.
The Murasaki Mura lantern festival renovated streets were once threatened by demolition. This former movie set has been restored and still glows softly where romantics may hold hands along its pathways, families might admire the architecture, and children could play in the courtyards. Experiencing life preserved and illuminated in this way reminded me that what feels hopeless can be transformed.
While visiting the Japanese Cultural Center, my husband and I participated in a private tea ceremony, flower arranging class, and calligraphy lesson. Guided by skilled artisans, it felt like we committed to a day of harmony, respect, purity, and tranquility—not as abstract principles, but as lived practice.
As I prepared Matcha, tasted sweet cakes, and absorbed the rhythm of ritual, I became aware of the care and intention behind each gesture. The instructors (joyful, patient, and deeply present) showed me that these practices are as much about human connection as tradition.
The artisans shared stories of their families, students abroad, and the care that goes into each experience. Their attention to timing, tradition, and personal connection showed me how much my own presence and energy influence a space and those around me, teaching me to show up more fully in life.
That’s what I’m taking into this season.
Now that I’m home, I no longer feel fragile. I have no jet lag. I even cured months of suffering from insomnia while there, finally back to a circadian rhythm even after my vacation has ended. For days after my return, I could still feel the effects of the Thai massages. Something physically shifted in a way that stayed with me. The chronic pain subsided, and for the first time in a long time, I felt relaxed in my body, not clenching because of it.
That mattered more than I expected. Experiences like that have a way of restoring something essential. They remind you that you’re still connected to the world, even when you’ve felt removed from it, while people remind you that you’re seen and your presence matters.
In time, perhaps I won’t measure how I feel or try to define it for others.
Maybe I will maintain my attention in conversations. I hope meals will be an experience rather than something I’m just trying to get through. Rather than wondering when I’ll feel inspired again, I’m excited to wake up energized and capable.
Soil & Sunlight
Sustaining energy and focus comes from re-engaging with your life in small, consistent ways. Realizing you can prosper where you’re planted, letting people shine their light on you—that’s what brought me back.
More than anything, I feel grateful to all of those who reached out to me.
I want to thank our readers for their support as I navigate this personal journey of loss and mourning. I didn’t expect to enter the season in this way, but I’m so grateful to be able to express its influence on me. My hope is that what rises from the ashes is the ability to inhabit what awaits on the other side of grief.
Reflection Prompts
Who in your life feels like a drain on your emotional energy, and who feels restorative?
What was the last story or cultural encounter that shaped your understanding of human connection?
Where in nature is your go-to place to find calm?
When was the last time you did something to welcome someone else into your community?
Why is it now a good time to consider what you value?
How have the arts challenged your assumptions and expanded your world?
In what ways can you bring your awareness to how your presence affects a space?
Hear narration by the author on Spotify!
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Arbor of the Vine provides inspirational content and resources designed to support women’s creativity, wellness, and personal growth through our collective platforms, including Echoes & Vine Magazine, The Word on the Vine Newsletter, The Echo Effect Podcast, Lore & Leaf Studio, and the Emerging Voices Youth Writers’ Guild. Our content reflects lived experiences and diverse perspectives, celebrating empowerment, resilience, and thoughtful connection. While intended to inspire and guide reflection, it is not a replacement for professional guidance. For situations requiring emotional support, we encourage seeking care from a qualified medical or mental health professional.
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