Medellín, Colombia
I walked into my hostel at 12 a.m., and the security guard/receptionist asked me, “Did you just walk here?” Yes.
He very sternly told me to never do that again and that I was lucky nothing had happened to me. Someone had just been shot and killed on that street the month before. Yikes.
We kept talking—about Medellín, life there, everything. He was friendly and only spoke to me in Spanish to help me practice, despite speaking perfect English. We talked about our families, ourselves, life—me doing my best to keep up. I was grateful for the free lessons.
Then he asked if I wanted to go back to his room and watch a movie.
I politely declined. He was very handsome and charismatic. I could tell he wasn’t used to being turned down, but he stayed gentlemanly, and I went to bed.
I always shower before bed, so I said goodnight and went to the bathroom. It was around 1 a.m. I was alone in a large bathroom with individual shower stalls, but the water wasn’t getting hot. I turned it off so I could try a different stall.
As soon as I shut the water off, I heard rushed footsteps. Strange. It’s late. This hostel doesn’t have much nighttime activity.
I wrapped myself in a towel and walked to the next stall. I opened the door and saw the receptionist crouched behind it, hiding.
I screamed like someone was aiming a gun at me. I shrilled as if I was a siren being captured in the night. Absolute murder. Because what the actual f***.
He screamed too—and ran out without saying a word.
I took my shower, trying to process what the actual f*** had just happened. I put it together pretty quickly: he followed me into the bathroom, was watching through the tiny crack, got startled when I ended my shower early, and didn’t have time to leave—so he hid.
Later, he claimed he was “cleaning.”
I left the hostel and reported him. I doubt he faced any consequences.
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
Malaysia has three main ethnic groups: Malay, Indian, and Chinese. People couldn’t really place my ethnicity, so sometimes people assumed I was Malay. Most Malays are Muslim, and Malaysia is a majority Muslim country.
One afternoon, I was on the train wearing shorts above the knee and a short-sleeve shirt, headed home. A man kept staring at me with pure contempt.
I immediately understood the issue. He either thought I was Malay or knew I was a foreigner — either way he clearly disapproved of what I was wearing. I’m just reading his thoughts “slut, whore, etc” I can feel his anger clear AS DAY.
I got off at a few stops earlier than my home, to get away from him.
He got off too. I started running. He started running.
He chased me around the block like a scene from a bad movie. I dodged through crowds while he sprinted after me. I ran around looking for a police officer, couldn’t’ find one, then hid in an alley. Wondering what does he want to do? yell at me? hit me? could I fight him? should I fight him? what if he tries to kill me? I’m going to scratch his eyes out. I guess I have to kill him first. But, what if I go to jail? fuck. I’m 21 at the time.
He sees me hiding and starts running in my direction. I turned the corner, and ran into a boba shop and hid in the bathroom. I waited 2 hours before going home, mainly because I was lost after running in unknown directions and didn’t know how to get back but also just in case he was still nearby and following me.
After that, I started covering my hair in public and stopped wearing shorts when I was alone.
Busan (Pusan), South Korea
This was my first-ever solo trip. I was 19 and turned 20 while I was there.
I left my hotel at 1 PM to hike Mount Geumjeongsan, which means “the mountain with a golden well.” Legend says a golden fish descended from the heavens on colorful clouds and swam in the well at the top, giving it magical properties. If you drink the water, you may live forever. That’s why Beomeosa is called the “Temple of the Heavenly Fish.”
I didn’t tell anyone where I was going — not the hotel, not my mom.
When I reached the top, I felt euphoric. I splashed my hands in the magical water like a toddler. I decided that every year on my birthday I would hike a grand mountain. Wow. How powerful am I? I was so proud of myself.
Then I realized I was running out of time. I needed to get down before dark and catch the last bus out of the park. Will they shut the iron gate? How do I call a taxi? I don’t have phone service. How do I get service? Okay—I need to haul ass to catch the last public bus – which I was warned about before entering the park – make sure you catch the last bus.
While running down, I slipped, hit my head on the steps, and slid down moss-covered stone — at least 20 feet.
It hurt. I laid there and felt the knot forming on the back of my head, my ankle swelling, my tailbone throbbing.
It’s dark. My body hurts. I could injure myself again. I don’t even know if I can stand. I should stay here and try again in the morning. That would be safer. That’s the smart thing to do.
I started planning how I was going to sleep in the forest overnight. I started thinking about how the animals would protect me and that everything would be fine.
Then I realized… I might be falling asleep. Or passing out.
Because that made absolutely no sense.
I prayed to God and asked her to save me.
I stood up, ran down the mountain, and made it to the bus stop just as the last bus arrived.
I never did no shit like that again.
