I have not yet crossed oceans or watched my breath
rise on mountain peaks at sunrise.
I have not tasted saffron in Moroccan souks,
nor run barefoot through cherry blossom rain.
But the longing lives in me—
like a seed pressed deep in warm earth,
like lullabies I’ve never sung
in languages I’ve yet to learn.
When I have the means,
when my hands no longer ache from building dreams,
when abundance flows not just to me
but through me,
I will go.
I will carry my son,
his laughter echoing down cobbled alleys.
I will take my mother to see the sea she’s only dreamed of.
I will sit alone with myself
in places where the Earth feels holy.
One day,
I will pack our bags —
not just with clothes,
but with wonder.
Table of Contents
I. Kenya
My story starts here,
where soil knows my name,
where sunrise spills gold over savannah grass
and the rhythm of drums lives in my chest.
I want to rediscover Kenya like I’ve never truly seen it—
to watch my son build castles on Diani’s silver shore,
to float above the Mara in a balloon,
and watch the wildebeest migrate like a living river.
I’ll take my sisters to Naivasha for wine and healing laughter,
walk through Karura Forest in quiet joy,
and hike Mount Longonot just to prove to myself
that I can still climb.
Hidden gem: Ngare Ndare —
I’ll walk its sky-high canopy
and teach my son how it feels to fly while still on earth.
II. Morocco
When the money flows, I’ll take my son to Morocco—
to Marrakech where orange sunsets drip through lattice windows,
where he can ride a camel and I can ride
a new version of myself.
We’ll eat dates stuffed with almonds
and drink mint tea from silver cups
while musicians turn cobbled courtyards into magic.
I want to lose myself in the blues of Chefchaouen,
feel the desert cradle me in her golden silence,
and whisper my dreams into the dunes of Merzouga.
Dream meal: Tagine with preserved lemon and olives,
steam rising like incense from a clay pot of belonging.
III. Japan
When abundance arrives,
I will take a solo journey to Japan in spring—
just me, silence, and the slow language of blossoms.
I will walk Kyoto’s shrines with reverence,
sit beneath cherry trees until petals fall like snow,
and write haikus in a tiny café
with matcha warming my hands.
Then I’ll bring my son back in autumn,
so he can see the fire of the maple leaves
and chase deer in Nara that bow back in kindness.
Hidden joy:
Soaking in an onsen in the mountains,
as stars crack open the dark like quiet joy.
IV. Italy
I want Italy for all of us—
my son, my parents, my siblings, me.
Rome to learn history that still breathes,
Florence for art and soul,
and the Amalfi Coast for slow afternoons
where we sip lemon spritz under bougainvillaea.
We’ll eat pasta that tastes like patience,
laugh over gelato in the street,
and dance barefoot on tiled floors
in an old villa filled with love and garlic.
Must-try food:
Cacio e pepe in Rome,
fresh mozzarella in Naples,
and cannoli in Sicily sweet enough to mend anything.
V. Indonesia
When peace finds my pocket and time becomes mine,
I’ll take a retreat to Bali.
Not to escape, but to remember.
I’ll wake up to birdsong in Ubud,
move my body through sunrise yoga,
and let my past be carried away
by the waters of Tirta Empul.
Then I’ll return with my son—
to show him a treehouse café,
to swing between palm trees over rice fields,
and let him laugh as waves chase his toes on Nusa Penida.
Hidden gem: A sunrise hike up Mount Batur,
then breakfast on the rim of the sky.
VI. Peru
Peru will be a pilgrimage.
A future me, brave and blessed,
will walk the Incan steps of Machu Picchu
with gratitude wrapped around her shoulders.
I’ll learn Quechua prayers,
drink coca tea by the Sacred Valley fires,
and hear the Andes echo stories of ancestors
who also climbed high, hoping for light.
Food to try:
Quinoa soup shared with locals in a stone hut,
corn roasted on coals and handed with kindness.
One day I’ll return with my son when he’s older—
so he can feel the weight of mystery
and the altitude of awe.
VII. France
France will be for the beauty I’ve always deserved.
I’ll go alone first—
to Paris,
to walk the Seine with no destination but delight.
I’ll write in Montmartre cafés,
wander through Monet’s lilies,
and eat warm pastries each morning
as if pleasure is a form of prayer.
Later, I’ll return with family.
Picnics beneath the Eiffel Tower,
lavender fields in Provence for my mama,
and teaching my son to say “bonjour”
to a world that always welcomes wonder.
Secret wish:
A week in Annecy —
lakes like melted sapphires,
where time forgets to rush.
VIII. Thailand
When the blessings flow and time is kind,
Thailand will call us with her colors and chaos.
I’ll take my son to Chiang Mai
to feed elephants, float lanterns,
and try pad thai from a street cart
while music hums like heartbeat.
I’ll take a boat through floating markets,
try mango sticky rice
with coconut cream running down my fingers,
and find peace on the beaches of Krabi
as my son builds castles with coral.
Hidden joy:
The misty mountains of Pai —
a place to just… be.
IX. Greece
I dream of Greece in two seasons:
One solo, for silence.
One shared, for celebration.
First, I’ll walk through the old stones of Athens,
learning how to stand in my own ruins
and still rise.
Then I’ll bring my family to Santorini—
to whitewashed walls and bluest skies,
to grilled fish by the sea,
and sunsets that hush even the children.
Must-do:
Swim in volcanic waters with my son,
both of us laughing like we’re made of light.
If You Ask Me Where To Go…
Go where your heart flutters
when you see the name.
Go where the food makes you close your eyes.
Go where the earth feels like poetry.
Go alone, go with a friend,
go when you’re broken,
go when you’re whole.
Just go.
Because the world is waiting
with open hands and stories to tell.
And somewhere out there —
a version of you
is walking barefoot through a market,
or watching stars on a rooftop,
whispering:
“We made it. We’re free.”
A Future Etched in Hope
I haven’t been there yet.
But I will.
Each late night I work,
each blog I write,
each dream I dare to feed —
they are bricks in the road
to a future I can taste but not yet touch.
I am saving, planning, praying.
I am building wings
for a woman who deserves the world
and a little boy who will one day say,
“My mama showed me magic.”
When I have the means, I will go—
not to run,
but to become.
To become joy.
To become free.
To become the woman
who promised herself a life so full,
the world had no choice but to open for her.
