The dry sand crunches under my feet as I walk across the beach. Little crabs skitter out of the way, racing amongst the scattered fragments of coral and seashells long abandoned to flip into the sea. For once, the ocean is calm. There’s not a ripple to be seen, as far as the horizon. A glassy mirror, the water reflects the cerulean sky above. Besides the wind dancing through the trees and my bare feet softly padding over the sand, a blanket of peaceful silence has settled over the beach.

The sun was just rising over the Laotian jungle. Mist still blanketed the Nam Khan River. It was cool out. The sun glowed through the mist, providing  an eerie morning.

Rothenburg ob der Tauber is a medieval walled village in Bavaria, Germany. Its' beautiful 17th century architecture and romantic atmosphere draws visitors from all over the world.

Rothenburg’s streets are lined with quaint rows of houses, many of which date back to the medieval period.

I’ve lived here all my life, but never had I seen so much color in Singapore – bright orange columns against the dirty cream of signs reading “Internet Café, 24 hours” with blinking neon arrows. As I walked towards the ethnic neighbourhood of Little India, the gravel beneath my sneakers slowly fell away to a tessellation of orange diamonds, and the public housing shrank to traditional shophouses, standing in full glory from red windows, to turquoise walls, and striped patio blinds.

I see Rimas coming and hurry towards him. Rimas is an interesting man, and I am glad to see that he has come to meet us. Yesterday while we were having dinner at his house in Lithuania, he invited us to come and have a look around his prosectorium (lab where he dissects bodies) in the Vilnius University. He had served us delicious soup that tasted sweet but a little tangy, and the taste is still lingering in my mouth even now, the next morning.