And just when I finally slowed down enough to feel held by it again, I chose to leave.

This chapter gave me back parts of myself I didn’t know I’d lost.

It’s hard to explain what this goodbye feels like.
It’s not dramatic. It’s not loud.
But it sits in my chest like a quiet ache I can’t shake off.

Every time someone asks when I’m flying back to Hong Kong, I stall.
I haven’t told many people. Part of me still hope I won’t have to.
Because saying it makes it real.
And real still hurts.

I know life here will go on without me.
But knowing that doesn’t make this easier.
It only reminds me that I’ll miss things I might never be able to get back.

I worked so hard to feel at peace here.
I fought through loneliness, confusion, disconnection, and I came out the other side with clarity and joy. And now, I’m choosing to walk away from it all. Back to a place I’m no longer sure I fit in. Back to a version of life I no longer crave.

It feels like betrayal — of myself, home, and everyone who cared enough to show up for me when I didn’t have anything figured out.

And for that, I’m sorry. Deeply, honestly, painfully sorry.

So if I don’t say it properly later, just know this:

Thank you for making space for me.
Thank you for reminding me that life can be soft, fulfilling, and completely mine.
Thank you for showing up, even just for a little while.

And if I seem distant in the coming weeks, if I avoid the hard questions, if I take longer to reply, it’s not because I don’t care.

It’s just because this is harder than I imagined.

So Long, KL.

You made me appreciate life again. You made me appreciate myself.
You made me see beauty in the smallest things.
You reminded me that this life has so much more to offer. That I don’t have to suffer to feel alive.

My thoughts are still messy.
My heart is still unsure.
But thank you, truly, for giving me something so hard to leave behind.

But the thing no one really tells you about moving home is what happens after the festivities end. People go back to their jobs, back to their cities. While I remain jobless, clueless, in a city that once raised me but now feels suddenly unfamiliar. When the lights come down, the questions start creeping in: “So what are you doing now?” followed quickly by, “What’s next?”

And the truth was... I didn’t know. Not really. I was unemployed, a little embarrassed, and a little lost, stuck between who I was before I left and who I’m becoming.

KL had changed, and so had I.

There were new cafes, cool events, and run clubs popping up every other week. But I didn’t know who to do any of it with. I’d send event invites to old friends, hoping someone might say yes. Sometimes it was a yes. Mostly, a no.

I wanted to bring my Hong Kong routine to KL, so I tried joining a popular run club. But everyone seemed to arrive in groups, so I ended up warming up by myself next to a tree, ran in silence, cooled down in silence, and left. I wasn’t sad. Just aware, aware that even in a place I used to call home, I had to find my people all over again.

I can’t really remember how time passed, but time really does fly. Most days blurred into each other. There were job interviews, some half-hearted applications… Some mornings I’d wake up with a plan. Some days I’d wake up and just decide, maybe I’ll visit that cafe. Maybe I’ll go for a run. I’d drag my mom or my sister along when they were free.

Somewhere in the middle, I escaped to Melbourne spontaneously for over two weeks as both my sisters had moved there, and I didn’t want to be alone in KL. However, when I came back, the calendar somehow filled itself. A trip to my grandma’s hometown. A weekend in Penang because my best friends from Hong Kong came to visit. It wasn’t a glamorous season of life, but it was real and unexpectedly full.

kl chronicles #1 - running through the city that raised me

And then one Sunday, I did something I never imagined I would. I woke up at 5:30am, voluntarily. I wasn’t used to waking up this early. It felt surreal. Not long ago, 5am was the time I’d be coming home from a party. And yet here I was, tying my shoelaces for a sunrise run with a group of strangers, with @runatbackyard.

The roads were quiet, the sky was still dark, and the group was small. No one really talked at first, which didn’t help my nerves. I kept thinking, "What if no one talks to me the whole morning?" "What if this is just another run where I feel invisible?"

But then we started, and the route - IT WAS BEAUTIFUL yet nostalgic.

We ran past KLCC, KL Tower, Dataran Merdeka, and other landmarks I’d known all my life, but never like this. I found out the city closes major roads every Sunday morning for KL Car-Free Morning from 7-9am.I’d always known it existed but had never gotten around to experiencing it. And now here I was, feet pounding on roads I used to sit in traffic on, roads that once frustrated me on the way to school or work. Now they were wide open, quiet, but welcoming.

It was my very first LSD (Long, Slow Distance) run, it was 12km!! The last time I ran this much was for my first ever half marathon. It was the first time I got to see this city differently. This is home, and a place I want to belong in again.

By the end of the run, people actually talked to me. I even got invited to join them on Thursday track runs because I told them I missed running on tracks. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe the endorphins. But in that moment, it felt like I had a place again.

I logged the run on Strava that morning and wrote, "People actually talked to me, maybe adapting back in kl ain’t that hard."

That morning felt like KL saying, "Hey, welcome back."
And for the first time in a while, I believed it.

kl chronicles #2 - late night shenanigans

Since moving back, I kept seeing events I wanted to attend — raves, gigs, parties that looked like fun but I never knew who to ask. I’d send invites to old friends, hoping they’d say yes, but most of the time, they weren’t into it anymore. So I stayed in. I watched stories from afar. I kept telling myself maybe this version of fun no longer had a place in my life here.

Then one night, I went to a new club with my sister and her boyfriend. Somewhere near the back of the club, I met someone. Our first conversation wasn’t exactly publishable but it was completely platonic. This one deserves an honorary mention because he became the first new friend I made in KL. Thank you for inviting me to run with your crew when I told you I used to do it alone. Thank you for asking me to spin together when, back then, my only spin partner was my mum, or just myself on most days. Thank you for entertaining my random texts, my unfiltered messages, and all the little requests I’d send across the phone without thinking twice, and most importantly, you reminded me that I was still capable of meeting people in this city - ORGANICALLY.

If you're reading this, you know who you are, and for that alone, it meant a lot to me.

And slowly, I started meeting more people, people who invited me out. I was no longer just watching things happen. I was in the room. I had people to text. I had people waiting for me. People who made sure I got home safe. People who reminded me that connection can still happen, naturally, without having to try too hard.

I’m not saying any of this is extraordinary, but I'm extremely grateful for these random encounters.

kl chronicles #3 - some things never change

The MMT crew said they’d include me in the next camping trip and they did. I was just a happy parasite along for the ride. But that weekend ended up being one of the most healing moments of my time back in Malaysia.

We hadn’t spent proper time together in years, yet everything felt easy. They noticed all these random and silly things I never paid attention to, and somehow turned them into the funniest jokes.The kind that spiraled into laughter so hard your cheeks hurt. I smiled so much that weekend, like something inside me had been loosened and lifted.

What stayed with me most was how they cared. I felt taken care of in a way I hadn’t felt in years. Not because I needed help, but because they offered it without asking. It brought me back to a version of myself I had forgotten. A version that always had high standards, because I knew what it was like to be surrounded by good people. This is the version of life I want to return to.

After signing the new job offer in Hong Kong, I kept pushing the start date. Not because I had other plans. Not because I needed more time to prepare. I just didn’t want this chapter to end. The truth is, I’m really happy right now. And part of me is scared to leave it behind.

Back when I was still unemployed, the only thing that stressed me out more than loneliness was job interviews. I hated prepping and trying to sound enthusiastic on job interviews that I am not interested in. So when I finally locked something in, I felt relieved. Not proud, just relieved. Because it meant I could stop trying to prove myself. It meant I could just exist again.

I wake up when I want. Sometimes I go to a cafe. Sometimes I run errands with my mom. Sometimes I run. Sometimes I stay in bed all morning. There’s no plan and no need to structure my day around a 10am call or a 4pm rejection email. I just follow whatever I feel like doing, and it changed me.

I move slow. I go with the weather. I go with the flow.

Sometimes, I get dressed and go out. Sometimes I don’t.

And somehow, everything still feels full.

I’ve been building a routine too. Every Thursday I go on track runs with runatbackyard. I learnt to put down my ego, I ask people out even when they have rejected me before and that's alright too.

I recently hosted a home cafe on a Friday afternoon with my group of high school friends, since we were all funemployed and free. They were the best friends who once meant the world to me, but over the past four years, I had started to feel distant. I think we all knew we had outgrown each other a little, especially after missing out on each other’s highs and lows for so long. It started as a joke, but honestly, when else would all of us be unemployed in the same city at the same time?

And then one day, when I was doing groceries alone, it hit me.
I feel so fucking grateful for this life.

I haven't been working for the past 5 months, but I can still afford to live.
I haven’t asked my parents for a single cent.
My family is healthy.
My friends check in on me.
I’ve made new ones.
I’ve reconnected with old ones.
I’m not lonely anymore.

I run. I laugh.
I’m in better shape than I’ve been in years.
I love how I feel in my body.

I love that I sleep when I want to, and wake when I’m ready.
I love that I have no commitments, no pressure, no fixed timelines.
I can do whatever I want.
And somehow, that freedom still feels incredibly rare.

This is what re-adapting felt like.
It started off strange.
It became beautiful.

I know this season won’t last forever but I want to remember every bit of it: how it felt to wake up with ease, to feel cared for, to have space to just be.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you.

This was never meant to be a neat story or a lesson with a clear takeaway. It’s just a record of a season. One that surprised me, softened me, and reminded me how good life can feel when you finally slow down enough to live it.

To anyone who is afraid of returning to a city you used to love, or unsure about stepping back into an old version of yourself, I hope this gives you some faith. If I could re-adapt, slowly and gently, you can too. It might not be easy, it might not be perfect, but it can still be beautiful.

I may not be here much longer, but these memories will carry me through the upcoming storms in life. I can’t wait to come back and live in this city again. It’s what’s keeping my sanity in check for the next two years.

To this city. To this pace. To this feeling. To come home, properly.

This was the softest part of my year.
The calm before the next chapter.
And I’m just so fucking grateful.

Thank you for the soft landings.
Thank you to the friends who made space for me.
To the strangers who became something more.
To the rhythms that found their way back into my life.

Every encounter matters.
Thank you for letting me belong here again.

Thank you, KL <3

spot yourself if you made it here!

Fear of money running out. Fear of telling my family, who already doubted my choice to leave Malaysia for Hong Kong. Fear of losing the life I had built, one small, stubborn step at a time. But more than anything, I was afraid of facing myself. Because when you have nothing left to hide behind - no busy calendar, no job title, no salary, you are left standing there with yourself, stripped bare. And that is when the real work began.

Somewhere along the way, I started noticing it - the way my chest tightened mid-conversation whenever someone asked about my career, the way my hands trembled when a stranger casually said, "So, what do you do?" I carried invisible bruises from places that never deserved my loyalty. It took me longer than I would like to admit to understand it for what it was. This was ANXIETY. This was what burnout leaves behind, even after you walk away.

I used to think healing would look heroic. Instead, it looked like googling panic attack symptoms at midnight, like promising myself, again and again, that I would finally book that therapy session, and still not making the call. But while fear lived inside me, something else quietly grew alongside it - Gratitude.

Life began unfolding in ways that only uncertainty could allow. I found a new kind of love for running, not chasing medals or personal bests, but running for the silence it carved out inside me. I built new rituals too: slow mornings without alarms, finally trying the home café recipes I had saved on Instagram for years, whisking matcha with banana milk, buying a moka pot and brewing coffee just for myself. There were homemade breakfasts with my mom and grandma, talking about all the unimportant things that somehow felt like the most important things after all. I started writing again, journaling, documenting small joys through Substack and a little project called Neighbourhood Receipts.

For the first time in a long time, life did not feel like a race. It felt like a slow, winding walk back to myself. Before this, I never allowed myself to rest. Living alone in Hong Kong made me feel like I always had to do something - go out, meet people, stay visible. I thought staying in meant missing out, and I didn’t want to be a loser trapped in a tiny flat. But now I’ve found joy in missing out.

It was in this stillness that I realise, I can redefined success.

In Hong Kong, success usually looked like money, status, and elitism. But over the last five months of spending more time with myself, for myself, I learned that my definition of success is about waking up excited to live your life. It’s about meaningful work, and having the time and energy to do things that make your heart feel full. It is being surrounded by people who love you, not because of what you can offer, but because you exist.

Old friends, new friends, strangers who barely knew me. My sisters, who cheered for me in silence. My grandmothers, both constantly worried whether I had enough to eat. My parents, who never once rushed me into settling just to ease their own fears. Friends, who cared enough to worry about my job hunt and even helped apply for jobs on my behalf. They kept my faith alive, in people, in the universe, and in myself. I am beyond grateful to have experienced so much kindness in a season of uncertainty, and it reminded me that life, despite its chaos, is still worth living.

And ironically, just as I reached this clarity, I accepted a job that does not align with any of those values.

On one side was a role back at home, a startup job that aligned perfectly with my passions. A job that promised meaning, community, and real, tangible impact. It paid well. It made sense. It felt like a warm welcome back to where I had quietly started building a new kind of life.

On the other side was stepping into corporate prestige in Hong Kong. The big name that, few years ago, would have felt like a dream. Everyone told me it was the golden ticket to my career advancement, and I do not deny that. But deep down, I asked myself if it still mattered to me the way it once did.

Now it feels like saying yes to a version of myself I have already outgrown.

It feels like saying yes to a dream that no longer belongs to me.

It feels like betraying the version of myself who had just learned to appreciate life and community over status.

And still, I chose name and fame over passion and impact. Maybe there are some things in life you just have to try. Maybe I did not want to wonder ten years from now if I had missed my chance.

I cried for days after signing the contract. I am not excited to start this job. But I am choosing to trust that this decision will lead me somewhere, even if that somewhere is not forever.

I mourned the life I left behind, I wrestled with doubt. But if the past five months taught me anything, it is that I can survive the unknown. If I can afford the worst outcome, it's a calculated risk.

I can be heartbroken and still hopeful, that is what makes this life worth living. I am still here. Still running. Still dreaming. Still trusting that somehow, some way, the best parts of my story are still ahead of me.

To everyone who stayed, who checked on me even when I did not know how to show up for myself, thank you for being there when I needed it the most, even when I did not know how to ask. This is for you <3

Love, Nat.

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This isn’t a guide to the best desserts in Melbourne. It’s a journal of the ones I shared, the ones that came with laughter, questions, or silence that didn’t need filling. The ones that felt like little rituals in themselves.

🍦 Good Daze Canteen – I could probably write an entire journal just for this place. Every flavour hits—creamy, creative, and borderline addictive. My top three?

• Jasmine Milk Tea with Lychee Jellies

• Guava Chilli Sorbet

• Biscoff Brownies.

After a few rounds of ice cream hopping across the city, this one still stands out as my favourite. I went back again with my sisters after dinner, and I still think about it often.

That first bite was a surprise. The second, a craving. By the third, I was already wondering how I could have this again.

🍫 Hareruya Pantry – Mochi-wrapped ice cream that stopped me mid-bite. The outer layer was perfectly chewy, and I went with the cream cheese and fig jam gelato. It was rich, light, and quietly surprising in the best way.

We had just left Marion, still warm from the wine, wandering until we found a quiet bench. We ended up on the swing at Lincoln Square South Playground (no, I didn’t know the name until I googled it after). Life felt like a VSCO album, one of those moments you somehow remember in detail, like the way the sunlight filtered softly through the trees. He looked and asked if he’d see me again. I took another bite instead of answering. Some flavours fade. Others stay. This one did both.

🍨 Yochi – You know what you want, and you get what you want. I’ve only had Yochi twice, but both times it hit the spot in a way that made it memorable. On hot Melbourne afternoons, it was exactly what we needed. Cold, light, and just sweet enough.

I shared it with my sisters and the most fun part was building our bowls together, carefully choosing toppings we loved while trying to balance the portions. They charge by weight, so we told ourselves to be sensible, even as we quietly gave in to our cravings. Milk chocolate sauce that froze into crisp little chunks, pistachio drizzle, strawberry mochi, and a fresh mix of fruits; each bite tasted like summer. I always find myself trying to portion each flavour just right, quietly negotiating with the scale, knowing I’d probably go over anyway.

🥯 Mile End Bagels – One visit wasn’t quite enough. The first was in Fitzroy, where I had a matcha bagel with cream cheese and raspberry sauce. It was simple, familiar, and quietly satisfying. You can’t go wrong with that combination.

A few days later, I returned—this time to their Richmond location for the March special: a banoffee bagel. I’m a sucker for anything banana, and while I’ve had plenty of banoffee pie, this was my first time having it in bagel form. Banana cream, thin shavings of chocolate, all tucked into a warm banana bagel. It was creamy, but never too rich. Soft, sweet, and completely indulgent in the best way. F** me, it was so good. I’m not even good at baking, but it made me want to learn how to bake to recreate it, just to taste it again outside Melbourne.

Before I left, I picked up a pack of their bagel chips to bring back to Kuala Lumpur. A small way to hold onto something I loved, and to share it with the people waiting at home.

🍞 HOMM – This is my middle sister Emily’s favourite spot in Melbourne. We heard about it long before we arrived, through conversations in KL and from her constant mentions.

The Thai Tea Avalanche Bingsu quickly became our favourite too. She compares it to every version she tries in other cities, but nothing ever comes close. She even once submitted her interest in bringing the franchise back to KL.

Their shokupan is another highlight—soft Japanese milk bread, toasted in caramelised butter until golden and crisp. obody does anything in Thai tea flavour better than HOMM. HOMM became our comfort spot, the kind of place we never had to think twice about, somewhere all three of us would always say yes to :)

Every scoop, every bite, every soft chew was more than just a treat. It was an extension of the moment.

Dessert gave me more time. With my sisters. With friends. With myself.

It wasn’t about hunger. It was about presence. A small way to hold onto something good just a little longer.

That’s why I’ll always have room for dessert <3

Every cup felt like the one. Until the next sip. And the next. Melbourne doesn’t serve best—only better.

Calēre Coffee – If I had to choose just one, this would be it. My favorite. The one I kept coming back to, morning after morning. Even now, I find myself craving a good cuppa like the ones I had here. It was love at first sip—bright, juicy, unforgettable. The China Project One Light “Peach Oolong Tea” coffee, with its delicate notes of peach oolong soda, rhubarb, and strawberry shortcake, was unlike anything I had tasted before. It was effortless, yet full of depth. It still lingers in my mind, long after the last drop.

☕ Patricia Coffee Brewers – A standing-room-only space, intimate and unassuming. The kind of place where coffee is the only thing that matters. Their Guatemala blend, whether black or white, is effortlessly smooth—balanced, with just enough depth to keep you coming back. And I did—three mornings in a row. Not just for the coffee, but for the people. Bowen and Henry, amidst the morning rush, still remembered me, asking how my interview went the day before. In a city where life flows steadily, small gestures like that make the biggest impression.

☕ Good Measure – I’m a sucker for anything orange-related. And their Mont Blanc coffee —iced black, topped with cream, and a hint of orange zest. It was the first drink of a Saturday night, a quiet pause before barhopping. Bright and spiced, smooth yet complex—like a good conversation unfolding over the course of the evening. That night was indeed still young.

☕ Proud Mary – A Collingwood institution—and for good reason. Recently ranked 4th in the world’s best coffee shops of 2025, it’s a place that knows its craft. It was a drizzling morning—the kind that makes you want to stay curled up inside, wrapped in a blanket, and do absolutely nothing. But I’m glad I pulled myself out. That flat white, smooth and perfectly balanced, was the kind of coffee that makes you sit a little longer, take smaller sips, and appreciate the quiet start to the day.

☕ Overlay Coffee – A playful contrast of textures and flavors. The iced Americano, crowned with a cloud of peanut foam, is rich but weightless. Their matcha latte, velvety and pure, is an exercise in restraint. We had them on a scorching heatwave noon in Melbourne—too hot to even bother with a nice picture. All we needed was a good iced coffee and an iced matcha latte to cool down and escape the heat.

☕ Dukes Coffee Roasters – My very first flat white in Melbourne. Because, well, you’ve got to do the Melbourne thing while in Melbourne. I tried their Dukes Blend in white. Nothing super remarkable, but it was my first, and that alone made it memorable.

Melbourne’s coffee culture isn’t about caffeine. It’s about precision, patience, and the pursuit of something just beyond words. A moment to sit still, to taste, and to let time—if only for a little while, stretch itself out.

These are just my personal favorites—coffees that made me pause, moments that stayed with me, and random thoughts that crossed my mind in between sips. I hope it helps, and that you’ll fall in love with the city a little more <3 ☕

I’ve always found myself in transit—between places, between phases, between identities I thought I had figured out. I’m turning 27 this September (Virgo sun, ENFP heart, if that says anything about me), and right now, I exist in a state of nowhere. A place where past plans have unraveled, the future feels like an unfinished draft, and I’m just here, figuring things out as I go.

I was born and raised in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, but for the past few years, I’ve been orbiting between cities. At 19, I spent time in Bali volunteering, thinking I had unlocked something profound about life. At 23, in the middle of a pandemic, I packed up and relocated to Hong Kong, chasing opportunity and adventure. Somewhere in between, I spent a month traveling solo around Europe, wandering through unfamiliar streets with nothing but time on my hands. And now, after a recent career pause, I find myself in an unfamiliar yet oddly liberating position—for the first time in a long time, I can simply exist without rushing to the next thing.

But this space—isn’t just about me. It’s my little creation corner, where I collect cozy finds, stories and places that feel like home - one city at a time.

No rush, no rules—just stories from nowhere in particular.

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