Beginning the Day with Purpose
December 16th, Kuala Lumpur. I sat at a food stall just beneath my hotel, eating and writing, trying to work on the structure of my book. The dormitory where I stayed wasn't the kind of place where ideas came easily—it was too small, too closed in. To think clearly, I needed space, so I chose the openness of a food stall, surrounded by the voices and smells of the street.
This book has always been my biggest reason for traveling. Yet I kept finding excuses: "Where should I begin? There are so many other tasks…" That hesitation had followed me for months. But as I looked down at my empty notebook, I realized I couldn't keep putting it off. I had to begin, even imperfectly. That was the moment I forced myself to take the first step.
A Meeting in Chinatown
By evening, I had plans to meet a traveler I had gotten to know on a previous visit. Around six o'clock, we gathered in Chinatown for dinner.
The prices reminded me again of the difference between Malaysia and Japan. A bottle of beer cost 21 RM (around 739 yen), not cheap by local standards. The fried rice, at 10 RM (around 352 yen), was simple but delicious—the rice cooked just right, each grain light and separate. It was exactly what you'd hope for in a Chinatown meal.
After eating, we wandered the streets, enjoying the lively night atmosphere. That's when we came across a small group of people gathered around a table.
A Surprise Gift
They were Yu-Gi-Oh card collectors. I couldn't believe it when I saw the old, first-generation cards—Blue-Eyes White Dragon, Marshmallon—cards I hadn't seen since my childhood. The sight filled me with nostalgia, like suddenly being pulled back into another time.
We talked for about ten minutes, sharing laughs. Then, one of them handed me a card. It was Inspector Boarder. He smiled and told me, half-jokingly, "Keep it in your passport so you don't get caught at the border."
I knew I wouldn't often receive a gift like this on the road. That one card, given so casually, became something I'll treasure.
Returning to the Dormitory
Later that night, I returned to the dormitory. The building itself looked nothing like a home—it seemed like it had once been a shopping center's parking garage, now repurposed into living spaces.
I admired the idea. Instead of building something entirely new, they had transformed what was already there into something useful. It made me think about sustainability and how creativity often begins with what we already have.
The dorm even provided bicycles for residents, free to use whenever needed. A small detail, but one that made me smile.
