A Hug, A Whale, and a Tuk-Tuk Ride I’ll Never Forget

I recently took a trip from my home base in Colombo down to Unawatuna, Sri Lanka.

Colombo had been good to me—filled with authentic human connection, quiet generosity, and a sense of community that’s hard to put into words. But when I arrived in Unawatuna, I felt a shift.

Everything there seemed... transactional. Tourists everywhere. Locals chasing opportunity, prices hiked, time and space for genuine connection replaced with a business-first urgency.

I didn’t blame them. But it left me cold.

I value authenticity. Realness. So naturally, I started to feel a bitterness creep in. That is—until I decided to stop looking for connection, and instead, start offering it.

That’s when I met Kumara.

He was a tuk-tuk driver. On day two of our five-day stay, we were negotiating rides with a group of drivers. Kumara stood out—not because he offered the lowest price, but because there was a gentleness in how he spoke.

He gave me his number in case I needed rides later that week. I took it.

The next few days, I booked him for three different trips. On the first, we spoke about life. Family. Food. The impact of tourism. Nothing surface-level—he shared openly, and I felt a strange sense of trust early on.

At one point, he took a detour to help me out. In return, I bought him a drink and a snack. When we got back, I didn’t have the right change. So I did something I don’t usually do.

I paid him upfront for the remaining trips.

“Thank you,” he said, soft and sincere. Then he paused. His eyes welled up.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

He nodded. “Nobody has ever trusted me like this.”

That moment cracked something open in both of us. We hugged. And as I walked away, I felt myself getting emotional—tears forming behind my sunglasses.

That wasn’t a “feel-good” gesture. That was two people, from different worlds, connecting through a moment of trust that felt almost sacred.

It made me realise something:

It wasn’t my trust that changed him.

It was his quiet consistency, his care, his presence—that gave me the space to offer the best of myself.

He didn’t just receive kindness. He drew it out of me.

The next day, we had plans to go whale watching. I thought he’d just be waiting on the shore. But as the boat pushed out, I saw him waving me over.

He’d joined the cruise—his first time on a boat, first time seeing dolphins and whales. He was wide-eyed, full of joy, like a kid on Christmas morning. And I got to witness it.

We took photos. Shared laughs. He was no longer our driver. He was our friend.

On the final day, he drove us to the station. But it wasn’t a goodbye. It was a “see you soon.” We made plans to meet again—not as client and driver, but as mates. As family.

Looking back, this wasn’t a simple feel-good travel story. This was a reminder that behind the daily grind, behind the survival-mode hustle, there’s always a person who wants to be seen. Who wants to connect.

Kumara reminded me that kindness, compassion, and love don’t require fanfare. They just need space.

In a world wired for speed and profit, he chose patience and presence.

He gave me the space to be my best self—not through advice or grand gestures, but by being himself, fully and honestly.

So to Kumara—thank you.

For your generosity. For your trust.

For reminding me of what really matters.

Not the transaction. Not the timeline. But the moment.

I’ll never forget you, Machan.

Love,

Daniel