---

Last week, I went on my first trip to Bangkok with my cousins.

Malaysians can visit Bangkok often—it’s just a two-hour flight, and with AirAsia, it’s quite affordable.

Our flight was at 10:40 AM. I usually get insomnia before a flight, but not this time. I woke up at 5 AM and started packing the rest of my half-finished luggage.

I couldn’t find my bikini. I always pack one for vacations because the bottoms dry faster and are lightweight. Little did I know, I would regret this later.

Since I was up before dawn, rummaging around, my husband decided to drive me to the airport—I had interrupted his sleep. I had planned to take the train, but with his offer, I arrived even earlier, at 7:30 AM.

I was the first to arrive. My cousins were all joining me: one older, two younger.

I ordered an Americano, but at kids’ temperature—it tasted like water.

One cousin arrived half an hour later, and the other an hour after that. The two of them looked stunning, full makeup on, so I quickly applied some eyeliner to not feel too left out.

I don’t usually wear makeup on flights. I always use an eye mask to sleep on plane, not because I can’t handle daylight, but because it feels like privacy—like when kids play hide-and-seek, they cover their eyes and believe they’ve disappeared from the world.

There’s something thrilling about the roaring engines just before takeoff. No matter how many times I fly, that sound excites me. Speed, fuel, technology—it all makes me wonder how the very first person to fly was certain they’d make it out alive.

The arrival section of the airport looked dull. A few stores, and after a short walk, we were at the pick-up entrance.

When I stepped outside, I thought it didn’t look much different from Malaysia—the bridge structures, the road signs. Apart from the language and messier electric cables, it felt familiar.

Our driver didn’t speak English, but I understood when he said I was “suay”—beautiful. It made me happy and uncomfortable at the sometime. Haha. I’m not used to tipping, and I knew I wouldn’t later.

Then came the traffic jam. We call it that in Malaysia too, but this one was next-level. It took us nearly an hour to reach our first stop: Phed Mark.

As soon as my cousin got a queue number, we headed to Seven-Eleven for a mini shopping spree.

Thai milk tea—it’s good, even though I usually order everything “kurang manis” (less sweet). Over the next few days, I realized Thai food isn’t as sweet as people claim, though I agree their savory dishes do have sugar in them.

Phed Mark was amazing. We waited about 30 minutes and then sat upstairs in the tiny shop. Strangely, I couldn’t find a dustbin anywhere, yet there wasn’t any litter in the shop or on the streets—no used tissues, no greasy tables.

We ordered three levels of spiciness, all minced pork. I’ve been into crazy spicy food lately—Samyang noodles, 鞋底诱惑, even biting bird’s eye chilies at midnight. The third level of spice excited me. I saw there was a fourth level, and I’m glad we didn’t try it.

Later, I discovered Thai chefs make the best sunny-side-up eggs—crispy edges, perfectly runny center.

After lunch, we walked to a stall for sticky mango rice. It was delicious. When asian said delicious, means its fragrant and not overly sweet.

I’ve changed my eating habits on vacation for a few reasons:

• Fear of gaining weight
• Diving trips have made me cautious about having a round belly in a bikini
• If I walk fast after eating, it hurts near my appendicitis area—and this trip had a lot of walking.

We took another hour-long ride to our hotel, though it was only 10 kilometers away. The traffic was intense. But that was the worst we experienced during the trip. Either that or we just got used to it.

After checking in, it was time to dress up.

I wore a sparkly dress and used a foundation I didn’t fully trust—Tirtir. I also brought the Nars compact my friend FangLing gifted me last Christmas. I never travel without my Shu Uemura, but this time I did, for the first time in ten years.

Bangkok’s mall experience amazed me. Before that, we took a TukTuk ride, which I enjoyed, though a bit nervously, after all the horror stories I’d heard. It wasn’t my first TukTuk, but I don’t remember the previous rides being so nerve-wracking.

We got dropped off at the wrong mall, but it was fine since they were all connected by elevated walkways. I loved those walkways—like Christmas Eve with all the lights and the crowd.

Quickly, I realized that in Bangkok, it’s Christmas Eve all year round.

The mall was massive, endless rows of shops. My youngest cousin, Samantha, dashed off to see her idol Faye, who was celebrating her birthday at the same mall. But you needed tickets to get in. So we opted for something else—TRIBE Sky Beach.

I’ve been to bars and clubs all over, but this one? The best, by far. I’ll explain why in a moment.

Remember the bikini I couldn’t find? At TRIBE, you can dip in the pool. Missing that opportunity killed me. I love the water. I wanted to jump in so badly. My cousin even got us the best spot—right in front of the pool—but I didn’t have the right attire.

For a moment, I imagined going over to one of the girls in the pool, slapping her face twice, stealing her bikini, and jumping in. But I wasn’t sure if that was legal in Bangkok, so I didn’t risk it.

Instead, I made my first Bangkok purchase: a bikini via Grab, ordered at 9:40 PM.

The order went through smoothly, which is why I thanked the 四面佛 the next day.

My cousin Miyoki was influenced by me, she bought one too.

I felt bad for Shirley, our eldest cousin. She wasn’t enjoying herself as much—no love for loud music, pools, or alcohol. But I made us stay at TRIBE until midnight. Their bathroom was more luxurious than our golf club’s. It’s just a bar, yet so grand.

t could’ve been the quality of the drinks, or maybe it was the atmosphere, but everything felt perfect, like a second honeymoon. We ended up spending 1,000 Baht more than the minimum required.

Then, there was Shirley—probably the bravest person I’ve ever met. She let someone else put in her contact lenses, and later, she took them out with such ease. Meanwhile, my first experience with contact lenses took me 40 minutes. My second time? Still 20 minutes. It was terrifying for me.

Day two. The big day. I’ve never liked the idea of traveling just for the sake of it. I prefer doing the things I normally do at home, just in a different place. I’ve gone hiking in Australia, played the piano in Shanghai, and driven through Singapore. Familiar routines make me feel at peace.

In Bangkok, I practiced yoga.

But before that, I took my first Grab bike ride. We’ve ridden without helmets before, but this was different—doing it in a bustling city, crammed with more cars than people, riding behind a stranger.

I met my second Chinese speaker that day, the first being the Grab driver who took us to the hotel—a woman from Chengdu who had been living in Bangkok for three months. Our small talk felt surprisingly soulful. After we arrived on our bikes, we grabbed coffee and talked about food, yoga, and our teacher training.

Thirty minutes later, we practiced together. We didn’t exchange another word, just Instagram accounts, and with a quiet goodbye, we parted ways. I’ll always remember her smile.

The yoga session was already one of the best I’ve ever had, but I knew something even better was coming.

That morning, after exploring the city on my own, I felt energized, as if I’d become one with the neighborhood. My second Grab bike took me back to my cousins, who were still stuck in traffic while I finished my third ride.

After three bike rides, I understood what people meant when they said, “The world is your oyster.”

My spirits soared as I prayed at 四面佛. Only two of us did because of our beliefs, but it was a peaceful moment.

Next stop: the malls. And I realized something—I hate them. What I really can’t stand is aimlessly wandering through shops with no plans, no goals, and ending up buying nothing. I guess that’s what they call “dry shopping,” and it irritates me to no end.

---

Right, the 1,600 words above were written on a plane. Now I continue, three days in.

On the second night, we had street food. I was starving after going all day without much appetite—just a latte and an endless walk. To make things worse, the soreness from yoga had started to kick in.

We found a random food stall outside the Chatuchak night market. Finally, I had my first Pad Thai. I’ve always liked Pad Thai at home, especially with the crunchy bean sprouts.

Only the tom yum soup taste lesser than others.

On the third day, I went back to yoga. After a day of shopping, which honestly didn’t bring me any joy, I decided to return to the peace of practice.

I’ve never done prana (breathing practice) or group meditation in Malaysia before. I usually practice on my own, but never with others. The teacher’s cues were so precise, and when she adjusted my asana with just a light touch, my whole body responded to the correction.

Then something happened.

My phone wouldn’t stop ringing. It was on silent, but my Apple Watch kept vibrating. I didn’t recognize the number, but I knew it was a client from work. She’d called over ten times before I finally left the class to grab my phone. It was a Monday, so I understood the urgency.

But in doing so, I broke one of Yogatique’s rules—no phones allowed in the studio. I hadn’t thought much about it as a tourist.

After the session, the manager, Minh, spoke to me. She offered me a free t-shirt, one I had asked about earlier. But she gave it to me on one condition: I could never pick up my phone during yoga again. It was a distraction to me and everyone else.

Her words hit hard.

Answering a phone in the corner of a studio wouldn’t trigger a teacher in KL. I took the shirt, feeling both grateful and embarrassed. I left without showering—half because of the incident, and half because it was a holiday in Thailand, and they were closing after that class.

Minh was right. I felt disappointed when she said, “It’s your problem, not ours,” as I tried to explain the situation. I’ll think twice the next time my phone rings. Minh told me this was a lesson she learned from India, where they take their yoga seriously. And here I was, learning it for free in Bangkok—how nice.

Afterward, I joined my cousin at IconSiam, another mall. This time, after grabbing a coffee, I decided to skip the shopping altogether. I sat down at the first restaurant I saw that served beer.

The Italian beer, Peroni, tasted like water. The waitress had even warned me, but I didn’t listen.

After my beer and a glass of wine, my phone’s battery was nearly dead. I needed to charge it to stay in touch with my cousins, but the restaurant didn’t have a lightning cable. So, I headed to the directory and found a charging station—an amazing, foreigner-friendly system.

All I had to do was download an app, enter my card details, and a power bank popped out.

I try to travel light. I’m always checking my passport like a maniac, and I constantly make sure my phone and cash are still with me. I can’t do this if I’m carrying heavy shopping bags. My bag is already weighed down with essentials—an umbrella, water bottle, and a book to keep me calm.

By the time my phone reached 40% charge, my cousins had joined me. I decided to take the power bank with me to my next stop—the shooting range. Guns and fire—it never even crossed my mind before I hopped on the plane.

This is why I dread solo time on vacation. When I’m alone, I see things more clearly.

I’d noticed a row of shops selling guns after the yoga incident. With some advice from a friend who frequents Bangkok, and some research my husband did online, I decided to visit the Bangkok Shooting Range.

It felt just as terrifying as my first Grab bike ride.

When I arrived, the place was full of men—two African guys and a white man covered in tattoos. They were all turned away because they didn’t have their passports. Tattoos and no passport—should I just leave?

After five tense minutes, they bundled me into a car that would take me to the military base, five minutes away. My friend reassured me that this was normal, so I got in.

There were six or seven shooters at the range. Finally, I saw a woman—she was shooting a rifle, and every time she fired, the coach would push her shoulder back into place.

I felt both calm and anxious. I didn’t even know what kind of gun I was holding. I knew there’d be a kickback, and I was terrified it would knock me over. Fortunately, it didn’t. For the first 11 shots, I was just going through the motions, overwhelmed by the kickback and the fear of pulling the trigger.

I had to take a break. I asked for tips, and the coach was eager to help. Feeling more confident, I continued.

Without my contact lenses, I was sure I hadn’t hit anything.

But I almost shouted when the coach showed me my results—I hit 20 out of 25! Not on the figure, but on the paper at least. If I ever wanted to shoot someone, I’d just need them to step a little to the right. My husband made some jokes.

“If you ever want to shoot me,” he said, “I’ll just stand still. I’ll be safe.”

I laughed. “I was so worried immigration would stop me for firearms training in Bangkok!”

“Nah,” he said, “they only detain the good ones. You’re no threat.”

Funny. Ha. Ha.

But hey, 20 out of 25 is pretty good! I even hit one in the head and one right at the penis.

The other friend joked, “Right, but I’m not going to stand still for you to take 25 shots.”

The shooting experience cost 2,000 baht for 25 shots.

Afterward, I returned the power bank to the 7-Eleven next door. Why aren’t these charging spots more available in Malaysia? It only cost 20 baht per hour, plus 1 baht for registration.

---

Author: DonaLiew

Credit: