I’ll never forget the night I arrived on Penang island, Malaysia in August 2023. I had just gotten off a 5-hour bus journey from Kuala Lumpur, tired yet wide-eyed with wonder, having somewhat stumbled into Malaysia by accident when my plans for Indonesia didn’t work out.

George Town charmed me immediately with its street art and legendary food scene. But I had absolutely no idea that Penang’s rich layers—a collision of different cultures, religions, and a dark colonial history—had earned it a reputation as one of Asia’s most haunted destinations, complete with ghost museums, vintage “haunted hotels”, and all the local lore to match.

Here I was in this mysterious place, with no prior research and no itinerary, on the eve of Ghost Day, which happens to fall right in the middle (peak) of Ghost Month, or the Hungry Ghost Festival.

What even is Ghost Month you ask? Well, you know, it’s just when the gates of the underworld open up for a month every year, allowing spirits to roam among us in the human world…

Nightmare in George Town, Penang

On my first night in Penang, clueless and sleepy, I checked into my hotel room and went to bed. Just a few hours later, a chilling nightmare shook me awake, trembling — it was no regular dream, I had a palpable visitor that was making its presence known, and this visitor wasn’t exactly happy with my sudden intrusion.

Not even a few seconds after my eyes shot open, I was still in-between worlds when I grabbed my phone and half-consciously typed “Penang haunted history” into my browser’s search bar. My screen quickly flooded with links directing me to blog posts and forums centered around paranormal experiences and stories in Malaysia.

That’s when my search for understanding began, but rather than being filled with fear, my curiosity surged.

Waking up on Ghost Day

Mind you, I still had no idea it was the Hungry Ghost Festival, let alone Ghost Day, but I went out into the unknown that morning and made a commitment to learn from the locals.

As I explored the colorful streets of Penang, I saw piles of fake money (joss paper) lit up in flames at every corner, outside restaurants and businesses — surrounded by untouched plates of fresh food and packaged snacks. Smoke from fires and incense filled the air, while the scents of burning herbs somehow blended harmoniously with the aromas of Penang’s iconic food vendors.

With every spontaneous conversation, my investigation further unfolded. I eventually learned about the Hungry Ghost Festival; that leaving offerings of food and money was primarily a Chinese tradition, as one woman explained “it’s a way to let the spirits know we honor them, by giving them offerings, we ask for peace and protection.”

They do this with the awareness that their own ancestors may be among the roaming spirits… This makes the festival far more than just the “spooky season” of the East — it’s a heartfelt gesture of respect and remembrance for loved ones who passed.

At this point, my nightmare started to make more sense, but the investigation continued.

Coexisting with the unseen

By nightfall, Penang peeled another layer, coming to life with decorative installations, music and large communal feasts. Little stages and musical performances popped up all over town, with rows of chairs for spectators. The first row however, was always left empty. A Chinese-Malay restaurant owner informed me that those seats are usually saved for the ghosts!

I learned that the thinning of the veil between worlds during the seventh lunar month is honored annually not just in Malaysia but across different parts of East and Southeast Asia, with practices that vary between cultures.

The local friends I made on my adventure were so kind as to also teach me some of their rituals. Here’s my favorite one:

Not just during Ghost Month, but year round, some people gently knock on the door before entering a hotel room or unfamiliar place. It’s an act of courtesy and acknowledgment, alerting any spirits that might be present to let them know a living person is coming through, rather than barging in unannounced.

What if there’s nothing to be afraid of?

Having grown up around cultures that taught me to shun or fear “ghosts”, this perspective on coexistence—even celebration—opened my eyes and heart to a different way of moving through the world.

A deep sense of reverence expanded inside of me — for I began to remember what many cultures around the world never really forgot: the spiritual realm has always been a part of our reality, and to walk around like we’re the only ones here is a colonial perspective that might actually be doing us more harm than good.

Although Penang gave me plenty of answers, I found myself leaving with even more questions:

• Is our fear of the unseen just another echo of the human tendency to reject what we can’t understand?

• What would the world look like if more of us chose reverence and humility over human supremacy and dominance?

• Could it be that in some parts of the world, colonial narratives turned our ancestors into something to fear—into “ghosts”—rather than spirits to honor, in an attempt to sever our connection?

• Would we still be afraid — if we considered that maybe we, too, are spirits passing through?

— Ghina Fahs