On a dismal Tuesday in Bangkok, I slumped on the window ledge of our hotel room watching the sky glow with lightening. I’d spent my entire life living one step ahead. Even though I was in a so-called travellers paradise, all I could dream of was delving into “Miyako Blue” waters, indulging in Kurima Island-sourced cuisine, and admiring Japan’s vibrant pink cherry blossoms amongst a mountainous backdrop. Brett and I hoped our quest to the portal between mainland Japan and the tropics, or the Kerama Islands as its more commonly known, would provide us with just that, but it turns out we would be taken on a different kind of journey of discovery. Having been on the road for several weeks travelling through South East Asia, we were excited to arrive in Naha, the capital city of and gateway to the Okinawa Prefecture. The warmth of the sun rested on our backpack-scarred shoulders and pleasantly fatigued, we silently roamed the city of Naha. Captivated by the local “Ryukyu culture” - formed by Chinese, Japanese and Korean influence - we admired the streets silent aura aligning with “Otonashii”, meaning to be quiet and calm, a typical Japanese rule. “Haisai, Mensore, Hello, Welcome!”, greeted our hotelier. Our aching bones immediately sunk into the hotel mattress as the walls drew closer together. As I drifted into a state of unconsciousness, my mind led me to one place only, dreaming of the Miyako Blue waters… To my despair, the early hours brought howling winds and tropical downpour battering the small window pane encased with already beaten dark wood. Inundated with alerts of a brewing Category 5 Typhoon, my chest tightened and with seemingly warmer palms, I frantically searched for an escape route as Brett slept peacefully and otonashii by my side. In this moment I knew only one thing for certain, we had to escape this island - fast. As the locals frantically prepped for survival, outbound flights were selling out and being cancelled by the second. With broken communication and escalating desperation, the hotel receptionists attempted to remain calm while informing us of the increasingly restricted transport off the island. As we nervously waited in the crowded yet seemingly quiet hotel lobby, the earthy storm scent swept in as the wind caught hold of the entrance door and guests, both young and elderly, gasped in dismay. With tension rising, we somehow managed to secure two direct flights to neighbouring Hong Kong. Although it was never on our agenda, for some reason it felt right. Crammed in a taxi with an alarmed Japanese family, tension and silence filled the air as the window wipers attempted to keep pace with the viscous downpour. Forcing our way through a chaotic Naha Airport, quietness still unbroken, we waited in desperation for our departure. Brett had overcome a fear of flying years before, but it had recently returned amidst several, precarious flights over the past months. With the Typhoon whirring closer, and our hearts racing faster, we wandered whether our flight out of Naha would be a successful one. It was 3am when we arrived in Hong Kong after too long spent in the ferocious skies. Fatigued yet relieved, we waited patiently as the pleasantly warm, dry air wrapped around our tired skin. “Kuài diǎn! Kuài diǎn!” the taxi driver yelled frantically and hurried us into the back seat. In the midst of darkness, the blinding city lights blurred in our tired eyes and we soon found ourselves hurled onto a seemingly familiar curb in Tsim Sha Tsui, Kowloon. That morning, my red eyes peeled open to beaming sunlight cutting through thick clouds that drenched the Kowloon skyline and mountain peaks. Leisurely sailing Victoria Harbour on a traditional Chinese “Junk” boat led us to experience the “old Hong Kong” paired with mesmerising skyline views of Hong Kong Island. Lit by the “Symphony of Lights”, it was in that euphoric moment that I suddenly knew we had found something special, something more enchanting than finding Miyako Blue waters. It was the first time I had felt present in the moment – a feeling that hasn’t left me since and the most valuable gift of all, gained through travelling into the unknown.