If I could relive a year, it would be the one where I first backpacked across Asia with nothing but a tiny rucksack, a train pass, and a heart full of curiosity. Not because it was perfect — it wasn’t. I got lost more than I care to admit, missed flights, ate questionable street food, and once accidentally booked a hostel with no windows (rookie error). But it was the year everything shifted.

It was the year I realised how big the world is — and how small my comfort zone had been. I’d relive that time not to change it, but to feel it again: sunrise noodles in Bangkok, getting soaked in a monsoon in Ubud and laughing anyway, watching lanterns float into the sky in Chiang Mai, and learning that the best stories rarely come from plans, but from surprises.

That year taught me that life isn’t measured in routines, but in moments. And if I could step back into any chapter, it would be the one where I learned how good it feels to be brave, lost, and utterly alive.