RETURNING HOME: ABOVE THE CLOUDS, BACK TO THE HEART

27–29 December 2025

The journey home began in an unfamiliar way: business class.

Seat 1F.

I smiled quietly.

1 + 6 = 7.

Mom again.

Two short glasses of champagne followed, poured generously, almost full. Then came the parade of food: satay (three sticks), a cold chicken dish, pan-seared fish with couscous and vegetables and finally dessert, apple crumble with coconut topping.

Halfway through, I laughed at myself.

Even writing this now makes me feel… full.

Too full.

I realized something very clearly up there in the air: I don’t enjoy being pampered with excess.

I don’t enjoy eating past my body’s yes.

When I left most of the main course and dessert untouched, the steward came over, surprised. I explained gently, it was simply too much, too sweet. She nodded and said she’d pass the feedback on. 

Even the final offer, a warm bun with Lurpak butter (my favourite!) and I declined.

My tummy was already waving a white flag. 😂

“No more business class for me,” I thought, smiling.

About two hours into the flight, the air turned choppy. Turbulence rolled through, shaking not just the plane but my entire system. We were far above the clouds, yet everything felt unsettled. Moments later, the seatbelt sign lit up.

Up there, suspended between sky and ground, I felt it again, how little control we truly have and how much trust flying asks of us.

I landed at 8.10pm on 27 December. 

KL welcomed me with warmth, the kind that wraps around you without asking questions. No cold crept into my bones. Just familiarity, relief and a quiet happiness.

From the airport, straight home; then a quick shower, a packed bag and another ride out. 

By midnight, I was at Mom’s place. My aunts and cousins were awake, waiting. There were hugs, soft conversations and snippets of my Vipassana journey shared in between yawns.

We finally slept close to 2am.

At 6am on 28 December, I woke up for Mom’s one year prayer (according to the Hindu calendar) - although mom passed away on 7 January. 

As I was getting dressed, the doorbell rang. My nephew and cousin were there already. The three of us headed to the temple nearby, where prayers were offered and food was distributed; sweet rice (pongal) and tamarind rice, part of the rites for Mom’s onward journey.

From there, we returned home for the longer prayer with the priest. 

As the only child present, I performed the rites.

Relatives gathered quietly.

And then, my heart softened even more as my three yoga students arrived.

They blended right in. Laughing gently, taking photos and videos, helping capture family moments. My relatives adored them. The house felt alive; not heavy, not sorrowful…just full.

Lunch arrived: vegetarian dishes, tea, snacks - plenty. As always, I ordered more than enough. Better abundance than lack. Everyone left with food in hand and warmth in heart.

Later, a few more visitors came by. We reheated food, shared sweets and eventually the house grew quieter again. 

That night, my cousin and I shared a small drink, our first; something Mom would have forbidden before, but somehow now felt… allowed. I smiled, knowing she’d understand.

We cleaned up, exhausted but grateful and went to bed with full hearts.

The next morning, 29 December, it was time for another reunion: with my other half!😊

After weeks apart, I reached the Proton service centre where my X50 had been repaired. As I walked in, I didn’t see him at first, then I turned left.

There he was.

And I swear, there was a grin!!😬

Fully repaired. 

Smooth. 

Proud. 

No resentment.

I apologized out loud, gave him a little pep talk and took him for a test drive. He responded beautifully.

We drove back to Mom’s place together. 

Mom’s picture returned to its place on the wall. Lights were left on. Doors locked gently.

Then, finally…home.

Looking back, this return journey wasn’t just about flying back or completing rituals. 

It was about arrival.

Into warmth.

Into memory. 

Into love that continues, quietly, steadily…even when the journey changes form. 

Above the clouds and back where the heart knows the way…

DAY 11: FREEDOM AND REFLECTION

Day 11

25th December 2025

Yahooooo! Out from the center; our freedom day! 😂 - and yes! Merry Christmas 🎄😊

The gong came alive at 4 am, assembly at 4:30 am, meditation, video discourse and breakfast (I skipped breakfast). 

Time to surrender items like bed sheets, pillow cases (I never used them as i brought mine from home), the rubber heat pack etc. 

I collected my phone from the office and quickly captured a few photos of this meaningful place. So many pleasant and unexpected moments, yet each one had taught me so much.

A bus was arranged to take us down to Jamil, a distance from the hotel. With my heavy bags, I decided to take a taxi. 

A group of college students outside the Vipassana center helped me with my bags and guided me to a taxi, advising not to give extra money. The fare was merely 690 NR (about 20 Malaysian Ringgit) and the driver didn’t ask for more, though I gave a little extra anyway. 

God bless these students, all the Dhamma servers and the teachers who taught me about discomfort…life lessons that now feel tangible.

I reflected on the long hours of sitting during meditation and how it contrasts with my yin yoga practice….how fascia and body awareness shift differently. 

I remembered that a few years ago, just before COVID, I became a qualified pranic healer. During the pandemic, we practiced distant healing for patients in ICU or at home. I shared this with a teacher and she told me pranic healing could not be mixed with Vipassana, which explained why I initially struggled to connect with Vipassana meditation. I accepted this and let it be. 

Maybe one day I’ll return as a Dhamma server, in a warmer place, to experience Vipassana again.

Now, settled in my hotel, I reflect on my solo travel adventure and the meaningful days of my trip. Two more days before I fly back home and on 28/12, my mom’s one-year prayer. 

Hmmm, I may take a quiet walk and enjoy a meal while i’m still here..and maybe end my 10 days being a vegetarian…

Sign-Off Reflection

As I close this chapter of ten days in silence, I carry more than memories. 

I carry lessons in patience, resilience and self-compassion. 

I carry the quiet strength of having faced discomfort, the gratitude for every small act of kindness and the gentle reminder that growth often comes in stillness. 

Vipassana has taught me that silence speaks, the body teaches and the heart remembers. 

And as I return to the world of sound, light and motion, I do so with a deeper presence, a calmer mind and a spirit quietly brimming with wonder.

DAY 10: THE LAST DAWN

Day 10

24 December 2025

The familiar gongs woke us once again, though by now, I half-expected the sound to announce itself in my dreams too. 😂

Somewhere in the night, my calves and the sides of my legs erupted in cramps. Pain…sharp and insistent. I endured, blaming lack of salt, dehydration or perhaps just the unforgiving cold. Yet, comfort lingered in the thought: this was the final day!!

At 4:30am, I stepped out into the dim morning. Light, sweet showers greeted us. The night had blessed the earth with rain and now the misty drizzle brushed our faces. 

Black umbrellas stood ready with a note: “No sharing of umbrella”.🤣

The rule felt almost comical but then again, here - a rule is a rule and to be followed. Most of us dashed through the darkness, feeling alive at almost dawn, drenched lightly, silent but connected.

The rhythm of the day unfolded as always: meditation, breakfast, meditation, lunch, meditation, tea, meditation. But the energy was different. Collective sense of anticipation in ending the 10 days silence could be felt. We waited. 

By evening, the silence broke. And what a glorious cacophony it became! Voices, laughter, chatter…everyone eager to connect, to share, to release months (or perhaps lifetimes) of silence. 

The sound of human joy filled the halls, mingling with the crisp mountain air, leaving me breathless, speechless and smiling.

A donation drive and a book exhibition followed. We did our small part. We were allowed to collect our belongings from the office BUT phones still forbidden until tomorrow morning. 🥹 The discipline had been tough, but now it felt almost sacred.

That evening’s discourse by the late S.N. Goenka wrapped my heart in warmth. His words, infused with compassion and clarity, reminded us of the simple, profound truths: how to be good, how to recognize ourselves, how to make the world better, how to give and receive. I silently thanked him, praying for his soul, my mind overflowing with gratitude.

And back to the sound of our voices - for ten days, we had neither spoken nor met each other’s gaze. Now, we hugged, laughed, exchanged numbers, shared fragments of our lives and experiences. I talked, of course, perhaps too much.🤣😂

But it was joyous, liberating, human.

By 1:00am, I returned to my little cubicle, my bedroom that had been my world for ten days. I was literally freezing and didn’t want to end up with frostbite. Outside, others were still chatting, still laughing, voices rising above the cold mountain night.

I crawled into my sleeping bag, layered blankets around me, heart full, body exhausted, spirit quietly satisfied. Bags packed, mind at peace, I closed my eyes.

Day 10 ended not with silence, but with release, connection and a quiet, profound sense of completion.

DAY 9: COUNTING THE LAST STEPS IN SILENCE

Day 9

23 December 2025

The day dawned cold, as it had every day, yet the awareness of its finality made each moment feel sharper, more precious. 

Today would be the last full day of noble silence; tomorrow, we would speak again. The thought made my heart both flutter and ache.

The familiar rhythm held us; gong at 4 am, assembly at 4:30, meditation, breakfast, meditation, lunch, more meditation, tea, more meditation. 

Even now, my fingers and legs tingled with numbness from hours of stillness. The cold bit deeper than ever, a reminder that the body holds memory as much as the mind.

Outside, the same breathtaking vistas awaited; snow-capped mountains, the vast, silent sky, the waxing moon rising over the distant peaks. Sunlight glinted off the edges of frozen branches, the orange glow of sunset painting everything in awe. 

My mind wished to capture it all, yet I had no device to smuggle a photograph; just the raw, unfiltered beauty of the moment, imprinted directly onto memory.

I walked among my fellow meditators, observing their silent practices. Some lay on the grass, fully clothed, facing the sun; some stood with palms in prayer; others paced slowly, taking in the warmth. Even the teachers, elders who guided us tirelessly from 4:30 am, were human; a nod, a murmur, a slight doze and yet their dedication never faltered. I silently saluted them.

Meditation continued. The Dhamma discourse played in the evening, Goenka’s voice gently guiding, reflecting, reading our unspoken thoughts. A smile, a suppressed chuckle, a quiet human moment; glimpses of life within discipline.

As I returned to the dormitory under the ink-black sky, my mind traced each step, each creaking stair, each shadowy corner of the centre. 

The cold was sharp, almost a tangible presence, urging me to move swiftly, carefully. I prepared for rest, layering sleeping bag, blankets and extra comforters, feeling both gratitude and a touch of melancholy.

Lying there, I thought of home, of those I loved, of what had been lost and what remained. 

Silence enveloped me, yet it no longer felt heavy; it was tender, protective, a cocoon of reflection. 

And as sleep claimed me, I counted the last steps in silence, carrying forward lessons of patience, awareness and quiet joy.

DAY 8: SERVICE AND WONDER

Day 8

22nd December 2025

The day greeted us with a spectacle. 

Earlier, the sun had begun its slow descent, casting a warm glow over the snow-capped mountains in the distance. Later, the waxing crescent moon appeared, delicate and serene in the evening sky. 

I paused, mesmerized. 

I wished, just for a moment, that I could have smuggled an extra phone to capture these views, to show the world the breathtaking beauty of this place. 

And I wondered, why not a general phone for such moments, where the wonder could be shared without breaking the silence? One day, perhaps. I would be so proud to share it.

Before lights out, a small, spontaneous moment of service unfolded. 

It wasn’t planned. 

It just happened. 

As I passed the bathroom, I noticed someone wearing rubber gloves, washing the toilets and another cleaning the basins. 

Without a word, I picked up the broom and began sweeping and mopping the floor. Quietly, instinctively, each of us knew what to do. And in that simple, silent cooperation, I felt a profound sense of joy and fulfillment.

In that moment, I realized the essence of Dhamma service. 

No applause. 

No recognition. 

Only presence. 

Only doing what is needed. 

It felt pure. 

It felt good.

Perhaps, in time, some of us would become the future Dhamma Servers, carrying forward not just work, but the spirit of care and mindful action.