Travels: learning from the moving life.

I was scared of the world and unsure of myself. Years of low marks at school had quietly taught me that I wasn’t smart enough, that I wasn’t ready. Yet there was another voice—persistent, stubborn—urging me to try.

The first months in Japan were deeply isolating. When you don’t speak the local language, you speak to no one. The loneliness was heavy, and more than once I wanted to give up and take the next plane home. Still, that inner whisper told me to hang on. I travelled to the far north of the country and worked on different farms each month, moving from village to village, volunteering, learning, meeting people job by job. The Japanese countryside felt alien to me. In many towns I was the only foreigner, the outsider. Yet there was also familiarity. After all, people are just people.

I picked berries, harvested rice, and milked cows. One evening, standing atop a grassy rolling hill under a bright moon, I watched a herd of deer grazing in the distance. In that moment, I realised something fundamental: the measuring stick school had used to evaluate me was wrong. I was more than a grade at the bottom of a test sheet. The world was far more colourful than I had ever imagined.

With a new confidence, after a year and a half of working, travelling, and learning the language in Japan, I charted new courses through Southeast Asia. I explored spicy foods and generous cultures, though not without hardship. I made mistakes. I trusted people I shouldn’t have. I was scammed, heartbroken, and at one point left with five dollars in my pocket.

I remember being in Malaysia without enough money to pay for a hostel. Ashamed, I slipped out before dawn and walked for hours until I reached the highway, holding a piece of paper that read Kuala Lumpur. I hoped to hitchhike to the capital and somehow find work. I stood for hours in the sweltering heat, watching friendly faces pass me by in cars that did not stop. Finally, a man in a business shirt pulled over and told me I was on the wrong highway. I lowered my head, defeated—but then he said, “Come with me. I’ll buy you a bus ticket.”

I could hardly believe my luck. He bought me lunch, drove me to the bus station, and put me on the next bus to Kuala Lumpur. On the edge of tears, I thanked him as sincerely as I could. From there, I found work in a backpacker hostel, earning a dollar an hour. From one of the lowest points of my life, I found my footing again—guided by a stranger’s kindness that would go on to shape my aims in life.

I have two great passions: acting and travelling. Acting is my way of expressing ideas and telling stories; travelling is how I experience the world and discover new ones. For years, I searched for a way to unite the two. Slowly, the answer revealed itself.

I have been to remote villages in Africa, full of people who love a drink and a laugh. I have lived in enchanting European cities, surrounded by breathtaking architecture and rich cultural life. In Europe, I deepened my appreciation for theatre and storytelling and had the opportunity to train my craft. Yet something troubled me. Theatre is readily available in European cities, but not in the places I had visited in Africa. And Europeans are not the only people who need theatre, or who can appreciate it. Storytelling is a human art form—it belongs to all of us.

This thought stayed with me, intertwined with memories of the kindness I had received throughout my travels. I knew I wanted to live a life that gave something back, even though I had no clear idea how. Once again, that familiar voice told me I wasn’t ready or good enough. And once again, I chose to try anyway.

On a recent journey to Bangladesh—a small country with an enormous population facing immense challenges, from political instability to widespread poverty and the hosting of over one million refugees in Cox’s Bazar—I travelled with intention. Through Peace Through Music International, I connected with passionate local educators teaching music to children in refugee camps and slums.

In Chittagong, I walked along railway tracks cutting through a slum to reach a small school filled with eager children. Trains thundered past as they sat focused and attentive, soaking up everything they could. The lead organiser invited me to share something. Nervous, I stepped forward and unpacked the masks I was carrying. I put one on and began a small physical performance. Despite the language barrier, we connected. The children laughed, stared wide-eyed, and leaned in with curiosity. The teachers thanked me, telling me they had never seen anything like it.

I will produce dynamic and mobile theatre that can be performed in remote locations, making storytelling accessible to all.

Additionally, I will share my travel experiences, as the insights gained from these adventures can inspire others to embrace their true selves.