Sitting here in silence, nothing but my thoughts. My solo journey across Europe has come to an end, but the final chapter was one that I never expected. A test of resilience, a lesson in humanity, and a reminder that transformation often comes through discomfort.

Throughout my travels, I tried to make small gestures that could leave an impact—acts of kindness. I don't have much. I am currently unemployed and struggling myself; however, the tiny ripples of kindness warm my heart. I have just come from an assignment of humanitarian efforts in Germany and I'm not ready to go home. I started in Italy, then went to Portugal, then Spain. It was an "eat, love, and pray" feeling where I had no agenda. This is something that most people can not experience in their lifetimes. I felt blessed. My solo journey was to learn about myself and be content with who I am. I learned to love and trust in myself.

In Spain, I gave warm clothes to a pregnant homeless woman, hoping to offer her even a small sense of comfort. In Portugal, I gave food to the hungry, smiles to warm hearts, and money to musicians playing in the metro. Small gestures, but sometimes, they mean everything. This taught me that I love to give, but need to learn to receive as well to fulfill my needs. It's a balance and work in progress.

As Aesop once said, “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”

A Beautiful Day Before the Storm

The day had started wonderfully. I visited a castle and, in a moment that felt almost surreal, I saw a rainbow stretching across the sky—a sign of hope, of something bigger than myself. In line at Jardim de Torre de Belém, I met incredible people, exchanging stories and laughter, feeling the warmth of connection. Travel has a way of bringing people together, even if just for a moment. I walked a lot, ate good food, and observed people of all cultures.

I didn’t know then that by nightfall, I’d be sitting in the back of a police car, tracking my stolen phone through the dark alleys of Lisbon.

Theft in Lisbon

Lisbon, for all its beauty—the stunning architecture, the soulful music, the charm of its historic streets—was also crime-ridden. My first day there, I was walking and saw people selling crack and drugs in plain sight, a stark contrast to the picturesque views of the enchanting sites.

I made it through so many countries without issue—until Portugal. In front of my nice hotel, in the briefest of moments, my phone was stolen. A simple lapse: opening the main security door, one second of distraction, and it was gone. No video footage. No real help from the police. A sinking feeling in my gut.

And yet, even in the chaos, people showed up. Anna Lee from Mississippi, who let me use her hotspot, stayed with me through the ordeal. She heard my story from the lobby and would not let me go alone. She had experienced her own story in another country where she was dragged by motorcycle while holding on to her bag with all her identity, money, and comfort items. We sat in the back of a Portuguese police car, watching my phone move 150 feet away, passed from person to person. The officers pulled one suspect for me to identify, but they all looked the same—black hoodies blending into the night.

Then, suddenly, a call came through on their radio. Another robbery. They turned the corner, dropped us off at 12:30 AM in the same area we had just been told wasn’t safe. Told me to seek help with the tourist police in the morning. Anna Lee got us an Uber, but it was not the best feeling to have us in this environment.

By then, my phone was long gone, trafficked across Lisbon and eventually sent to West Africa, where it would be dismantled and sold for parts.

The Journey Home—A Different Kind of Exhaustion

With no phone, no GPS, limited communication, and in a foreign country, I made my way across the border into Spain by bus, then by train to Madrid. I tried getting an Android phone and SIM card; however, it never worked or had issues with commercials on it. I missed my iPhone! I was sick—physically, emotionally. My body felt the weight of stress, the toll of uncertainty. By the time I reached my hotel in Madrid, I was drained. And that’s when I met Ellen and her husband, Dave, from Michigan.

It was such a simple thing—Ellen offering me a ketchup packet for my french fries. But after everything I had been through, that tiny act of kindness felt like a reminder that I wasn’t invisible. That even in moments of exhaustion and frustration, people still cared. She encouraged me to stay strong and tell my stories. She wanted to read my book one day!

By the time I landed in Dallas, I was struggling with respiratory issues. The kind of exhaustion that doesn’t just come from travel, but from the emotional energy it takes to push forward when everything feels out of your control.

Lessons in Resilience & Transformation

This wasn’t the ending I imagined for my journey, but maybe it was the ending I needed. Travel has always been about discovery—not just of places, but of self. Of how we respond when things don’t go as planned. Of how, even in the midst of struggle, there are glimmers of human kindness.

That rainbow I saw from the castle—it still lingers in my mind. A reminder that storms pass, that beauty follows hardship. I was reminded that small gestures matter. The way we help others. The way strangers help us. The way a simple moment—a shared hotspot, a kind conversation, a ketchup packet—can make a difference.

As I return to a healthcare system filled with long waits and high costs, I am grateful. The States have free water at restaurants, free toilets, small conveniences that make life easier.  Beyond that, I return with a renewed understanding: transformation is not about the ease of the journey, but about how we rise when we are tested.

And so, I write this not from a place of frustration, but from a place of reflection. The journey continues—just in a new way. I will keep giving hope. I will keep moving forward.

Because that’s what resilience is all about

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