My island home and its story
I grew up flipping through my mum’s photo albums — pages filled with pictures from the island, alongside stories of a journey that, in many ways, changed her life.
Back then, it was hard for me to fully grasp. I knew I had a dad from Thailand, and everyone in my Swedish family spoke warmly of him, but to me it all felt distant somehow. I preferred to stay quiet about it, not make it into a thing, and instead mostly identify with my mum and my Swedish roots.
Then, in 2010, something shifted inside of me. A curiosity appeared, and with it an urge to explore where I came from.
It was a warm summer night in Stockholm. I had just left the office and was walking through one of the busier streets in the city when I decided to call a number I’d been given during my search — a Swedish friend of my dad’s. And as soon as we hung up, I booked a ticket to Koh Samui.
What happened when I arrived here for the first time is almost impossible to put into words. It felt like coming home in a way deeper than anything I’d ever experienced before. The smells. The brown eyes. The smiles. The way meals were shared — several dishes spread across the table for everyone to enjoy together.
A part of me that had been buried for a very long time suddenly came to life.
Long story short: in 2016, after finishing my job and university studies, I gave myself six months in Thailand. Six months became a year. A year became two. And now it’s been ten years since I left Sweden.
In many ways, it feels like everything has happened here. I found my calling. I got my heart broken. I made incredible friends. I fell deeply in love. I carried and raised not just one, but two babies. I got to know my dad — a beautiful man — and eventually I lost him. I’ve discovered myself again and again and again.
Two years ago, we came across a plot of land next to the lake. The lake in the middle of Chaweng, only five minutes from where my parents once met. The same lake where I’ve spent hundreds of early mornings running as the sun rises — a place that has always brought me a deep sense of peace.
I said to Michael, “It’s either this land, or I’d rather not buy any at all.”
To say the process was smooth would be a lie. But after plenty of back and forth, the documents were finally signed. The land was ours.
On Monday, we’ll hold a ceremony with the monk my dad once knew — the same monk who stood by my side during my dad’s funeral, and whom Thip still visits regularly with the kids. We’ll identify the main pillar of the house we’re about to build and pour our blessings, hopes, and wishes into it.
Sometimes I wonder what 15-year-old Niki would say if someone told her this would one day be her life. The thought makes me smile. There’s no way she would have believed it.
And yet, here I am.
And it feels so right.
Let this new chapter begin.
