It was our first family trip abroad, just the four of us.
I was twenty-three that summer, living in Singapore, doing my master's, and interning at a bank.
My parents and younger brother came to visit in July, and I decided we should make a proper holiday out of it.
Two days in Singapore, followed by a week or so exploring Indonesia — Surabaya, Mount Bromo, Bali, and a few places in between.
It was our first family trip abroad, just the four of us.
And for the first time, I was the one organising everything.
The flights, hotels, transport, activities, where to eat, what to see, how to fit everything into the days we had. I spent ages planning it all, trying to make sure there was something for everyone.
My parents weren't exactly going to be thrilled about the same things as my younger brother, and I wanted all of us to have a good time.
It was a lot of work.
But I loved it.
I was earning my own money for the first time, and although my internship salary wasn't much, I was able to put some of it towards the trip.
I remember feeling quietly proud of that.
For most of my childhood, it had been my parents taking me places, paying for things, making the plans, and worrying about all the little details that children never think about.
Now I could do some of that for them.
It wasn't anything grand. I wasn't taking my family on some extravagant luxury holiday.
But I could book us a nice place to stay, arrange experiences we'd never tried before, and pay for a few things with money I'd earned myself.
And seeing how happy my parents were made every bit of planning worthwhile.
Looking back, I think that was one of the first times I really enjoyed what it meant to be growing up.
Not just having more freedom for myself, but being able to share a little of that freedom with the people I loved.
Our adventure in Indonesia began in East Java, where we set out to see the sunrise over Mount Bromo.
And by set out, I mean leaving at around eleven at night and spending most of the night travelling.
It was not a particularly glamorous start.
We rode through the darkness, eventually switching to a jeep that took us up the winding mountain roads.
I remember being tired, a little disoriented, and wondering how much longer we'd have to go.
By the time we reached the viewpoint, it was still dark.
And freezing.
I'd come to tropical Indonesia, of all places, only to find myself renting a thick winter jacket because I was so cold.
There was a small wooden shelter near the viewpoint where travellers were waiting for sunrise.
Calling it a café would be generous.
It was more like a makeshift little hut, with simple tables, benches, and hot drinks being prepared for whoever needed them.
And at five in the morning, after hours of travelling in the cold, a cup of something warm felt like the greatest luxury in the world.
The place was packed.
People from all over the world were squeezed around the tables, some chatting, some half-asleep, everyone waiting for the same thing.
We ended up sharing a table with two girls from Austria.
They were around my age and travelling through Asia, making the most of that wonderful period of life when you can spend weeks exploring somewhere new without worrying too much about what comes next.
We started chatting about where we'd come from, where we were going, and all the things we'd seen along the way.
I remember enjoying that conversation so much.
There was something wonderfully random about it.
Two Austrian girls, my family and me, sitting together in a tiny wooden hut on an Indonesian volcano before sunrise.
We probably wouldn't have crossed paths under any other circumstances.
But there we were, warming our hands around hot drinks and passing the time until the sky began to change.
And eventually, it did.
At first, there was just a faint glow on the horizon.
Then the darkness slowly lifted, revealing the shapes of the mountains below us. The volcanic landscape emerged little by little, with clouds and mist drifting through the valleys.
And as the sun rose, everything turned gold.
Mount Bromo sat in the middle of this vast, almost otherworldly landscape, surrounded by layers of mountains and a sea of mist.
It was extraordinary.
I stood there looking at it, suddenly not feeling quite so tired anymore.
All those hours in the car, the cold, the lack of sleep — somehow, none of it seemed to matter.
After sunrise, we climbed back into the jeep and travelled across the Sea of Sand towards Bromo itself.
The landscape looked like somewhere from another planet.
Dark volcanic sand stretched around us, with barely a trace of the greenery I'd come to associate with Indonesia.
We made our way closer to the crater, getting to see an active volcano from a distance I'd never imagined before.
It was my first time experiencing anything like it.
And the best part was getting to share it with my family.
We'd all endured the same sleepless night, shivered through the same freezing morning, and finally stood together looking at the same incredible view.
I think that made it even more special.
Bali felt like a completely different kind of magic.
After the dramatic, almost barren landscape of Mount Bromo, everything suddenly seemed impossibly green.
I fell in love with the place almost immediately. Not just the beaches or the famous views, but the little things you noticed walking around.
There was room for the trees.
Room for the sky.
And room, somehow, to slow down.
Our accommodation was one of my favourite parts of the trip.
We stayed in a lovely traditional wooden guesthouse, surrounded by plants and little details that made the place feel warm and personal.
There were natural stone floors, wooden furniture, a beautiful garden,
and a few extremely cute cats wandering around as if they owned the place.
Every morning, our host prepared breakfast for us.
Not a hotel buffet with endless trays of food, but a freshly made meal brought out with care, served in beautiful little bowls and dishes.
Some were made from coconut shells.
I remember asking about the tableware, and our host told us that some of the pieces had been found at local markets years earlier.
I loved that detail.
It made the place feel like a home someone had spent years putting together, collecting things they liked along the way.
And I loved the mornings there. Sitting down to a homemade breakfast, looking out at the greenery, watching the cats come and go.
Nothing particularly exciting had to happen.
The place itself was enough.
Another thing I remember so fondly is how kind the people were.
Our driver, in particular, became one of my favourite people we met on the trip.
He was friendly, talkative, and always happy to tell us more about the island. We spent plenty of time chatting in the car as we drove from one place to another.
I asked him about Balinese life, religion, family traditions, and the little offerings we kept seeing outside homes and shops.
There were little shrines in courtyards, family temples, beautifully carved stone figures, and offerings placed carefully along the streets.
I can't remember every detail now, but I remember how curious I was.
Coming from China, I found it fascinating to be somewhere where religious traditions were so visibly woven into everyday life.
Our driver told us stories about Balinese Hindu customs, including the relationship between marriage, family temples, and ancestral traditions.
It was one of my favourite things about travelling — being able to ask someone who actually lived there about things I would otherwise only read about online.
And because the conversation happened so naturally, in between stops and while looking out of the car window, it never felt like a history lesson. It just felt like getting to know someone.
We got along so well that we stayed in touch after the trip. Even now, we sometimes exchange holiday greetings, and I've recommended him to friends visiting Bali.
I love that.
Someone who was originally just our driver for a few days became a little connection to a place I'd grown so fond of.
Whenever his name pops up on my phone, I'm reminded of that summer.
Happy holidays to you and your family! 🌺
We certainly didn't spend the whole trip relaxing.
There were ATV rides, surfing, boat trips, beautiful viewpoints, and all sorts of little adventures.
I was determined to make the most of our time there, and perhaps a little too enthusiastic about filling the itinerary with things to do.
But we had so much fun.
One of my favourite moments happened during a boat trip.
We'd gone out to explore the water and see the marine life. At one point, I was in the sea, looking around, when I suddenly heard the boat captain calling my name.
“Doris!”
I looked up.
He was holding some fish food.
Then, right near where I was floating, he scattered a handful into the water.
And almost instantly, fish came rushing towards me from every direction.
So many of them.
The water around me, which had been almost empty a moment before, was suddenly full of tiny fish darting and shimmering in the sunlight.
I couldn't believe it.
I was surrounded.
It was such a simple gesture from the captain, but it turned into one of my happiest memories from the trip.
I still remember how excited I was, and how grateful I felt that he'd thought to call me over and let me see it.
There were other little moments that made me smile, too.
For some reason, several people we met in Bali complimented my looks.
Now, I'm sure some of them were just being friendly.
But did it make me happy?
Absolutely.
A little flattery never hurt anyone.
We also visited Nusa Penida, where the cliffs and beaches looked almost too beautiful to be real.
At Kelingking Beach, the enormous green headland curved out into the ocean, with a strip of pale sand far below and the sea changing from bright turquoise to deep blue.
It looked exactly like one of those impossibly perfect wallpapers you assume must have been heavily edited.
Except there it was, right in front of us.
Naturally, we took a ridiculous number of photos.
There were so many moments like that during the trip. Places I'd only ever seen on a screen, things I'd never tried before, and little surprises I hadn't planned for.
And whenever I turned around, my parents and brother were right there.
Sometimes they were admiring the same view. Sometimes they were laughing about something. Sometimes we were all just tired, hungry, or trying to figure out what to do next.
It was lovely having them there for all of it.
It's funny what stays with you from a trip.
I remember the sunrise over Mount Bromo, of course. The mist, the mountains, and that tiny wooden hut full of sleepy strangers.
I remember Bali's green courtyards and moss-covered stone paths, the beautiful little guesthouse, the homemade breakfasts and the cats.
I remember the fish surrounding me in the water, the incredible cliffs of Nusa Penida, the conversations with our driver, and all the things we tried for the first time.
But when I think about that summer now, I also remember how it felt to be twenty-three.
I was living abroad, studying something I was interested in, meeting people from different places, and slowly figuring out how to build a life of my own.
My internship was giving me my first real taste of working life.
For the first time, I had money I'd earned myself. Not a fortune, certainly, but enough to make me feel a little more independent. And I was beginning to realise how much I wanted to do with that independence.
I wanted to travel more, see more of the world, meet interesting people, learn new things, and try experiences that had once seemed far beyond my reach.
I wanted to build a good life for myself.
And I wanted to share it with the people I loved.
There was so much I hadn't figured out yet.
I didn't know exactly where I'd end up working, what kind of life I'd have in a few years, or which of my many plans would actually work out.
But I wasn't too worried about having all the answers.
There was time.
So much time, it seemed.
And the world felt wonderfully big.
That July, my family came to visit me in the city I'd made my temporary home.
I got to show them around Singapore, take them to Indonesia, plan little adventures for us, and pay for some of it with my own internship money.
We watched the sun rise over a volcano after a sleepless night. We had breakfast in a wooden guesthouse surrounded by tropical plants. We met kind strangers, tried new things, took far too many photos, and made memories that belonged to all four of us.
I was proud that I'd managed to put the trip together.
But more than anything, I was happy.
Happy that my parents were enjoying themselves. Happy that my brother was there. Happy that we got to experience all these new places together.
And happy, too, to be at that particular point in my life.
Old enough to begin making my own choices, but still young enough for almost everything to feel like a beginning.
I don't think I understood at the time just how much I'd treasure that week. We were simply on holiday, having a wonderful time. Maybe that's what makes the memory so precious now.
Nothing needed to be particularly extraordinary. The people I loved were there. The days were full of little adventures. And I was twenty-three, with more places I wanted to go and more things I wanted to do than I could possibly count.
My favourite people were right there beside me, the world felt wonderfully big, and I had every reason to believe that the best was still ahead.