I peddled my bike through quiet streets and got alone with the rush of the river, or the whisper of the lake. And I somehow thought I would always be there, though I dreamt of the world beyond.

Now, years later, rushing by me are seas of people. I feel the void today as tension builds. My husband asks a question. I snap. A moment of reflection follows my apology. Then the insight. “I need quiet.” He nods. He knows. I’m losing my grip and I need rest before I can reach up again to meet life’s demands. But this is no quaint town of my childhood. It takes a long flight, not a short ride, to find its peace-giving shores. Where can I turn? I consider a walk but I know I won’t find the solitude I crave. I retreat to my room but the crowds still press in. Horns honk. Music blares. People yell.

The calm of nature feels unreachable but I determine, in the midst of the demands, to yet again find a place of rest. My mind returns, not to my childhood home, but to the place of peace I most recently visited: to Penang’s oceanside. It’s only been a month since I left. I flip through journal entries and pull out sketches. I fan embers. I need to be full so I can keep pouring out and those days of sinking my toes into wet sand, letting the foam of a wave wash over them, losing my hat to the ocean wind, watching children splash, revived the wonder of my own childhood, long gone, and filled me.

I knew my encounter with grandeur was temporary so I embraced it. But as we drove away, the ocean behind us, the airport before us, I marvelled how quickly the days had slipped by. Rocks jutting through the water, the shimmer of the sun on its surface, were soon replaced by the airport’s fluorescent lights and shops with price tags.

I took a window seat on the plane and as we lifted off, I clung to my last view of nature, not knowing when I would again enjoy its wild wonder.

We rose above the maze of rivers and roads. Houses built on stilts traced the water’s edge. Homes fringed emerald islands.

The snake of a river, crossed by bridges, wove inland. Rooftops, scattered throughout, splattered the hills with colour: blue, white, orange, silver. A ribbon of a switchback road wound through the hills. Peaks grew higher and a hundred octopus arms of a lake floated through the dip in the mountain. A mist of cloud hid the paradise and I whispered good-bye.

The pilot announced our destination. Clouds gave way to fields of palms. The horizon returned.

It was a short flight, yet there was another to come. Home was far. This place would soon be unreachable.

Now it is.

But today, as I retrace my journey, I realize peace isn’t as far from life and responsibility as it seemed. And my spirit soars.