Camping : The Rainforest Park Genting Highland - Vol 3
The year did not begin with fireworks or a feast. It began with guilt. Quiet, persistent kind that sits in your chest... I saw Maher and Thalia every day, of course I did. Breakfasts, school runs, goodnights. But presence is not measured in proximity. It’s measured in attention. And mine had been scattered thin by life’s small, relentless demands. So when the calendar turned, I did something deliberate. I took my family camping. A few days before we left, I pulled out the camping gear. The smell of dust rose immediately, unmistakable and accusatory. Equipment that had waited patiently to be useful again. Neglected, but forgiving. I smiled. It was a fair reflection of me. Underutilised doesn’t mean useless. It just means it’s time to begin again. We left for Genting Highlands right after dawn, chasing empty roads and a promise of cool air. Online stories warned of five-hour traffic nightmares. We slipped through quietly, efficiently, luck or intention, I couldn’t tell. This time, conven...