Excerpt – The World is My Mirror by Riza Rasco
Synopsis
The World Is My Mirror is the story of a radical midlife reinvention told through vivid, self-contained vignettes that move across every continent, country, and forgotten corner of the world.
At the height of her career as a scientist, Dr. Riza Rasco’s pursuit of success, belonging, and motherhood collapsed under the weight of infertility, burnout, and grief. With no plan and no certainty, she walked away from her marriage, home, and profession, setting out alone on what became a decade-long journey through physical, emotional, and spiritual landscapes. Each place Rasco visited reflected an unspoken truth, offering lessons in resilience, humility, and belonging. Along the way, she founded a social enterprise in West Africa and the Philippine Global Explorers, now the world’s largest national travel club, dedicated to education, heritage preservation, and giving back.
For readers navigating burnout, loss, or transition, The World Is My Mirror is both a love letter to travel and a meditation on the courage it takes to let go of what no longer fits and to trust the uncharted road toward a truer self.
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Excerpt
Breaking Away from it All
The ninetieth day of my African expedition found me in Benin City, Nigeria—February 10, 2016—about a third of the way through what was meant to be a nine-month circumnavigation of the continent. Three months in, twenty countries still to go.
When I began this journey, I had a clear itinerary: head west- ward from Ceuta and Morocco, descend through Western Sahara and Mauritania, and continue along the spine of West Africa— Senegal, Guinea, Mali, Côte d’Ivoire, Ghana, Togo, and now Benin.
But Africa has a way of reshaping even the firmest plans. What had guided me more than any map thus far in my travels was the insistent pull to keep listening, both to the road and to myself. I was a woman in motion, still learning, still aching, still adjusting to a life far removed from the one she’d left behind.
Through social media, I shared curated glimpses of sweeping landscapes, waving children, markets bursting with color and chaos in real time. Local meals of jollof rice, egusi soup, and road- side suya. Elephants moving across a dusty plain. A never-ending road beneath a wide, unblinking sky. But no photo, no caption, could capture the full truth of this life—how the extraordinary became routine and the discomforts became normal.
By this point, I’d begun to settle into the rhythm of overland living. I’d grown used to its rituals and restlessness, to the raw edges and the weathered beauty of the road. Our truck, part machine, part moving village, lumbered over potholes and through towns with names I fumbled but loved to say—Yamoussoukro, Akodessewa. We slept wherever night caught us: in gravel pits, behind gas stations, on open fields humming with insects and the whisper of wind through trees. At night, I lay on a thin mat beneath canvas and stars, my limbs sore, my mind quieter, my soul slowly unspooling into something softer.
I had released comforts I’d once thought indispensable. I washed my clothes by hand in plastic basins. I squatted in the bushes. I went without showers for days. When we bush camped, we lived like our ancestors—no electricity, no plumbing, no plan beyond making it through the day. And yet I’d never felt more connected to my body, to the sun’s arc, to the stillness inside the dust and wind.
Gone was the regimented life I’d once led in America. I ate whatever was available: grilled chicken from roadside stalls, greasy dough balls, canned vegetables when nothing fresh could be found. Some days it was bread and instant noodles; other days, lentils stewed over campfire heat. My skin stayed coated in a fine layer of sweat and dust, and I’d long ago stopped caring how I look. I didn’t flinch at dirt anymore. I didn’t resist discomfort. I’d pared myself down to the essentials.
And in that stripping-away, I’d found joy in unexpected places: dancing barefoot with strangers, sharing laughter with children who chased our truck across fields, feeling instantly understood by women at riversides and in markets whose smiles spoke louder than any shared language. I’d learned how small gestures—offering fruit, accepting help, showing patience—bridged the space between people far better than words ever could.
I’d surrendered control. I no longer knew where I would sleep, what I would eat, or what would go right or wrong on a given day. I’d learned patience in a region where time was fluid, where buses came when they came, where border crossings could stretch into full-day trials. I’d had to trust others to fix the truck, to cook the meals, to carry me when I was sick or lost. I’d had to trust myself, too.
And slowly, I’d begun to let go of the need to manage everything, to plan and predict. I no longer woke with the pressure of productivity or performance. Instead, I woke with simpler questions: What will I eat today? Who will I meet? What landscapes will unfold before me? What will I feel along the way? And who might I open my heart to?
There was something deeply healing in that. Living this way—in motion, in nature, among strangers-turned-companions—peeled back the numbness I had once mistaken for stability. The wildness around me began to awaken a wildness within. I found myself singing again, noticing the curve of clouds, the color of dust, the rise and fall of my breath when I was still.
And yet, for all this softening, some threads were still tangled.
At midlife, many of us find ourselves caught in patterns, habits that once served us but eventually begin to confine. Without meaning to, I had built a life of order, performance, and predict- ability. For a long time, it had given me the structure I craved. But eventually, that carefully constructed existence muted something essential in me. I didn’t fully know what it was, only that I needed space. I needed to step away to figure it out.
What I hadn’t anticipated was how that stepping away would echo back into the life I left behind.
About the Author
Dr. Riza Rasco is an internationally recognized scientist, global explorer, and social impact leader. Holding a Ph.D. in Bioengineering from the University of Nottingham, UK, she is among a rare group of travelers to have visited all countries in the world.
After a prolific career in scientific research and innovation, Riza stepped away to navigate a period of personal loss, emotional upheaval, and disconnection. What began as a quest for healing evolved into a decade-long global odyssey of reflection and reinvention.
Today, she leads nonprofit and business initiatives that harness the power of travel to drive meaningful change in underserved communities. A sought-after speaker at international conferences and global forums, her work and journey have been featured in National Geographic, Forbes, The Telegraph, The Sunday Times, and other international media outlets.
