ATLANTA, Georgia — "People see themselves in a painting."  That’s what the curator of a tiny art gallery, tucked in the back of Atlanta’s Oglethorpe University tells me.

What would I see of myself in his gallery’s exhibit of modern Tibetan art?

I think of the Tibetan political struggle, last year’s protests against the Beijing Olympics, Buddha and enlightenment, the majestic Himalayas.

I see it mostly in political terms, the curator is thinking spiritual discovery. I walk in and all my preconceptions fly out of the window!

The traditional Tibetan art style is evident, but take a closer look and you see all the rules are broken.

One painting speaks to me in particular. A meditating Buddha, but his skin is a road map of America, with arteries of highways running through his body.

A collage of modern materialistic “things” around him. I look at the title for clues. It reads, “Excuse me Sir, which way is to my Home?”

Now I know why I am drawn to it. It speaks to my own American journey.

I am still the person I was when I came to this country, but the journey in my adopted home is changing me. Once you start that journey, “home” is never going to be the same and I don’t think you have to be an immigrant to feel that way.

We’re all on a journey away from “home,” changing as we travel along life’s twisting roads.

It can be disorienting but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tenzing Rigdol who painted "Excuse me Sir, Which Way is to my Home" will join me live this Sunday on World News 22:00 GMT.

You can post questions for him in the comment section below.

Click here if you want to see the report on the exhibit.

TOKYO, Japan – In a high school English class in suburban Tokyo, a familiar voice rings out in a patriotic tone. The students are mesmerized, shaping the foreign words silently as they study the printout of the audio.

Endo's class enjoy their English lesson Obama-style.

The voice belongs not to the Prime Minister of Japan, but the new President of the United States, Barack Obama.

"The world is watching," says President Obama.

"The world is watching," recites the class.

"Mo ichido, onegaishimas," says teacher Shizuka Endo, for "Once again, please." Endo clicks ‘play' on her CD and the students try the phrase again, focusing on pronouncing the "R." Their textbook is an English language book and CD set, featuring the speeches of the American President.

"The way he speaks is different from us," says student Asato Maejima. "His speech is so persuasive."

The book isn't just a hit in Endo's English class; it's the number one bestseller in Japan. Asahi Press, the publisher of the Obama books, says the book is also number one on Japan's version of Amazon.

Asahi Press, which says the textbook is its all-time second bestselling publication, released a sequel to the book. The second book features the President's inaugural address. The book is already number two on Amazon based on book reservations alone.

"Readers who do not necessarily want to learn English unexpectedly bought the book as well as those who want to learn English," says Yuzo Yamamoto, Asahi Press Director. "People wrote us letters saying they were moved and they cried."

Part of the reason, says Yamamoto, may be that Japanese politicians lack the passion that Obama expresses. Obama's tone, says Yamamoto, is positive and gives Japan some hope. The country, which has seen a revolving door of Prime Ministers in the last few years, has reported dismal opinions of its politicians in poll after poll.

Back in Endo's English classroom, the students applaud after Obama says "Yes, we can."

"I think the English isn't just English," says Endo. "In my opinion, it is more than language, it is communication." Communication beyond words and beyond borders.

GAZA - Huge, freshly printed posters were beginning to appear on billboards around Gaza City. The banners depicted masked fighters firing heavy machine guns or red-tipped rockets.

The cease-fire had taken effect just three or four days before. These were signs Gaza's fighting factions were still very much in business and keen to portray their campaign of the last three weeks as a victory against Israel.

CNN producer Talal Abu Rahma had been producing reports on the conflict for many years.

For several days now he had got word that the fighting factions he was trying to contact were too busy to meet. They were regrouping and retooling just in case the cease-fire didn't hold.

Then after hours of waiting one morning, Abu Rahma got a call. The northern Gaza commander of the Salaheddin Brigades was ready to meet.

We picked our way through Gaza's backstreets, still strewn with rubble.

Young men in civilian clothes stood on street corners on the lookout. Gazans call these spotters "Weierweis" (pronounced "warweers"), after a popular make of walkie-talkie they use to relay messages up the chain of command.

At the city limits, a contact meets us and leads us into an orange grove, like the many that stretch from here up to the Israeli border.

We're told to turn off cell phones and take out the batteries, an attempt to avoid what they fear could be electronic surveillance by the Israeli military. Under the low-hanging branches, six militants have taken up positions and camouflaged themselves with foliage.

The Salaheddin Brigades are part-funded by Hamas and fight in close coordination with them. In fact they're the military wing of the Popular Resistance Committees (PRC) - a mix of Islamic factions.

Since they were created in 2000, they've gained a reputation as hardcore fighters. They've frequently launched rockets into Israeli neighborhoods. Israel cited the indiscriminate attacks as the reason for its latest military offensive on Gaza. In 2003, the Salaheddin Brigades were blamed for ambushing a U.S. diplomatic convoy, killing three security guards and wounding a diplomat. And in June 2006 the Brigades claimed joint responsibility for burrowing under the Gaza-Israeli border and capturing an Israeli army corporal, Gilad Shalit. He was last heard from in a letter purportedly written in captivity in June 2008.

I'm introduced to Abu Jamal, the northern Gaza commander for the Salaheddin Brigades, who's wearing a red-and-white keffiyeh around his neck and sporting a close-cut beard. He's clutching an American-made M4 assault rifle.

His comrades are armed with AK-47s, two with rocket-propelled grenades.

I counted seven men including the area commander. But they display a certain bravado about their exploits against the Israelis.

The group talks how they fought guerrilla-style against the Israelis using sniper fire and ambushes to try to stall the Israeli advance, and on occasion getting behind Israeli lines to continue firing rockets at southern Israeli towns. They say they survived for three weeks moving quickly and eating little more than a handful of dates and drinking water.

The full facts of the militant campaign are difficult to independently verify. The Israeli Defense Forces say they faced hit-and-run attacks but fewer pitched battles than expected.

Abu Jamal said 17 brigade fighters were killed in the conflict. For its part Hamas says it lost fewer than 50 fighters.

The Israeli Defense Forces puts the number of dead militants as high as "several hundred" and said 10 Israeli soldiers were killed.

Abu Jamal and his comrades say they believe they could have bogged the Israelis down in hand-to-hand urban warfare if they had pushed deeper into the cities. The Israelis say they halted the advance of the ground incursion when they had achieved their main objectives.

Among the Israeli targets was the home of Abu Jamal. He briefly took me there as family members picked through the ruins. The IDF clearly had pinpoint intelligence on where he lived but he figured he was on their hit-list and had left along with his family. Now he was joking that having no home to return to would force him to spend more time with his "resistance" comrades.

When talk turned to the political reaction to the war, Abu Jamal and his fighters were clearly disgusted with what they saw as a lack of "brotherhood" from Arab neighbors but they did say they felt they'd discovered a new champion in an unexpected place: Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez. Chavez expelled the Israeli ambassador to Caracas and was forthright in condemning the Israeli offensive.

From that encounter with this cell of the Salaheddin Brigades it was clear their fighting resolve remained intact. For this guerrilla unit, every day it survives is viewed as a victory of sorts in the face of the overwhelming firepower of the Israelis.

It's clear, too, the Salaheddin Brigades view their fight as a religious mission and the recent conflict as the prelude to a bigger fight they believe they will one day wage.

"In the past we threw stones and then had small guns," said Abu Jamal. "Now we will move forward until we finally bring all Muslims to pray in Jerusalem."

DAVOS, Switzerland – For an event synonymous with the sort of blue sky thinking that has become an executive cliché, Davos does a good job of narrowing your horizons.

Speed-dating, Davos-style.

This small ski resort has been locked down for the past few days ahead of the World Economic Forum which officially gets under way on Wednesday.

Police stand guard at regular security checkpoints, helpful but firm, diligently and discretely checking credentials. Somewhere overhead a helicopter can be heard but not seen through the swirling snow.

Out on the streets, pedestrians just in from New York, Beijing or London stare at their feet as if they have just met, investing each shuffling step with ungainly caution as they seek to avoid an undignified slip-up on the perilously icy pavement.

The venue itself is a claustrophobic fortress corralled inside chain fencing and walls of plastic sheeting intended to shield the wealthy and powerful from prying eyes and unwelcome guests.

Once inside, narrow stairwells lead down into a warren-like nuclear bunker temporarily reconditioned as a cramped and fetid media center from which large unmarked white doors could just as easily lead you into a conference room as a chemical toilet.

For the business delegates gathered here for the next five days, Davos is a corporate "Green Zone" offering temporary respite from the economic carnage beyond its high security perimeter - mass job losses across continents, industry bailouts and battered stock markets - and a chance to take stock of what many fear will be even more daunting challenges ahead.

This has been styled as a more chastened, less complacent Davos that is in tune with the desperate times - but everything is relative.

Up on the hill at the exclusive five-star Belvedere Hotel, the new age of austerity hasn't arrived just yet.

As the champagne and red wine flows at the evening's welcome receptions for delegates the mood is upbeat as old acquaintances are reunited, Davos friendships rekindled and business contacts schmoozed. For newcomers, a "speed-dating" session for "young global leaders" has been arranged.

Perhaps the economic crisis can wait until the political heavyweights fly in.

ATLANTA, Georgia - Not a day goes by when I don't think about January 27, 2004 in some small way.It was the day when two friends, CNN employees Duraid Isa Mohammad and Yasser Khatab, were cut down by insurgents on a dusty highway south of Baghdad.

My last view of my friends was their SUV swerving off the road, the windshield spattered with their blood, as bullets crashed through our own vehicle.

Clearly, I'll never forget the guys, and neither will my colleagues who were part of the two car CNN convoy that was attacked by two carloads of insurgents.

But, every year on this date I make a point of mentioning their lives, and their deaths, to as many others as possible. To honor them, and to remind folks of the enormous contribution Iraqi staff make to the coverage of Iraq by western media. Check the CNN BackStory

Yasser was a young, vibrant man with a cheeky sense of humor (he taught me my first real swearword in Arabic).

Duraid had been my translator on previous tours of duty in Iraq, as he was that day in 2004. A loyal, trusted and talented young man with an infectious smile.

He had two kids roughly the same ages as my own, and I remember evenings in the Palestine Hotel when we'd proudly swap tales of the talents of our respective offspring, the sounds of Blackhawk helicopters following the Tigres River at low altitude in the background.

January 27, 2004 was back when the media could still travel out of the capital to report and not worry too much about not getting back alive. Sure, we had security, but this was before the days of orange jumpsuits and on camera beheadings.

We were returning in our two cars after doing a story in Hilla, south of Baghdad, when the killers struck, also in two cars – gunmen standing out of the sunroofs with AK-47's before opening up. Yasser and Duraid cut down in a hail of automatic gunfire in the first seconds of the attack.

The guy attacking our vehicle wasn't too good, fortunately. In those first seconds, I looked him in the eye, saw Yasser and Duraid's car leave the road, and dived across the seat with Scotty.

Our vehicle was hit multiple times, but the gunman's accuracy was poor – only cameraman Scott McWhinnie receiving a slight head wound before our security guard was able to persuade the gunmen to give up the attack.

Washington-based producer Shirley Hung, our driver Ahmed, our security guard, and myself unharmed, but far from untouched.

The loss of Yasser and Duraid stunned us. Guys we'd been chatting with literally minutes before, who we knew and loved and laughed with and talked politics with. Dead.

Those of us who survived are forever linked by our shared experience that day. We pretty much always reach out to each other every January 27, as we did today.

Me, Scotty, Shirley (who'll forever be known as 'Nurse Hung' for her management of the first aid kit as we treated Scotty). I'm still in touch with our security guard, too, and every time I'm in Baghdad I try to see our driver that day, Ahmed (he works elsewhere these days).

The common thread, of course; Yasser and Duraid. Young men taken too soon, but, no, never forgotten.

BEIJING, China — It's meant to be China’s biggest party of the year, when everyone forgets their hardships (and there are plenty even when the economy is going gang busters) and celebrates. So as I was walking around the famous Drum and Bell Tower and the swanky bars of Houhai in Beijing, I couldn't help but feel it was all a little flat. In fact at times, it seemed as if there were more western tourists who were out and about letting off firecrackers than locals were seeing in the Lunar New Year.

A worker installs lanterns to celebrate the Chinese New Year in front of the Bird's Nest on January 24 in Beijing.

There's an old Chinese superstition, the way you spend the Lunar New Year will portend the rest of the year – if that’s the case then China looks to be in for a very quiet, almost miserable year. The bars were not full, the crowds just didn't appear, and the fireworks lasted barely 20 minutes. Compared to last year, it was a bit of a dud. Even on the first day of the Lunar New Year, barely any fireworks (the last two years the fireworks barely let up even during daylight hours, certainly the fire crackers could be heard from early morning to late, late at night and on it went for two weeks). Watch why the Year of the Ox is looking more bearish than bullish

The men selling the fireworks on the street corners also seem to be hit by the economic downturn . . . not surprising when you realize a box of decent crackers can cost 800 RMB ($117.00). That's a lot especially when you might have just lost your job, or as is more likely to be the case, had a wage cut or overtime slashed. Chinese typically don’t like talking about tough times ahead, the concept of face means it's incredibly important for them to keep up appearances. This isn’t the U.S., where almost everyone is willing to open up and tell you practically everything about their financial pain, where there is a collective catharsis about sharing stories of hardship.

It’s also tricky getting a read on China's economy by using government supplied statistics, but perhaps the lack of enthusiasm, people and fireworks, might be yet another anecdotal piece of the jig saw puzzle which confirms China is feeling the pinch much more than last quarter’s 6.8% GDP numbers would suggest.

Tradition has it that the loud bangs on Lunar New Year are meant to scare away the evil spirits – this year, with fewer being able to afford the fireworks and crackers, perhaps the evil spirits might be staying around.

GUANGDONG PROVINCE, China - For decades migrant workers have been the faceless engine of China's economic growth. And in recent months, they have been seriously affected by the current global economic slowdown.

A mother carries her child last week at a railway station in Chongqing, China, during the Spring Festival season.

That's why we headed to China's industrial Guangdong province, so called "factory of the world," leading up to the Chinese New Year. Sometimes called the Spring Festival or Lunar New Year, the Chinese New Year is one of the most important traditional holidays for Chinese, with millions making the trek by plane, train, bus or automobile to see their families.

From the provincial capital Guangzhou we drove south toward the city of Dongguan, one of the economic powerhouses in southern China. Both sides of the expressway were dotted by countless factories and worker's dormitories. Most of the companies in the province produce goods for export.

I have traveled here before and soon noticed that something was different. Even from the car window one can see that many of the dormitories, where up to 12 workers often share a room, are empty. Some of them carry big signs "For rent."

Our driver says the car company he works for was making its living primarily from foreign businessmen and investors who came to inspect the factories in the region. "In October, November of the last year, they just stopped coming," he said. "We have no clients now. I do not know how much longer we can stay in business like this."

Some parts of Dongguan resemble a ghost town. Closed factories, empty workers' dormitories, deserted streets, shuttered restaurants, shops and massage parlors.

Shoe factory Wei Xu is in a township of Chang'an, and closed on October 31 after its U.S. clients stopped buying shoes.

Many small businesses surrounding the factory went bankrupt, and their owners returned to their villages. Some are still open, and we soon learn why.

A married couple, Mr. Gong Xinfei and Ms. Hu Shanling, came here with their two young children from Jiangxi province less then four months ago. They borrowed money from relatives and friends and rented their shop for a year. Mr. Gong had to pay almost $1,000 as deposit money. He spent an additional $8,000 to equip and stock the shop. The factory closed one week after the store opened. Gong says he has no money left and if he leaves now, he will lose the deposit, too.

"We don't have money. What can we do? Back at home we are not registered as farmers and have no land. Where can I make money?"

Gong continues: "We are people without jobs and have to depend on ourselves. Even if we go home, we have to make money. There is nothing to do there. That is why we borrowed money to do business here and see if we could make some money. Now we lost everything.

"If we really cannot survive, we have to go. I don't know where to go though. I have no idea," Gong adds, laughing nervously.

A few hundred meters away, Ma Shenglu leans against a doorframe of her empty restaurant. The 27-year-old Muslim says she came to Dongguan a few years ago from Qinghai province: "I don't have other ways to make living. I don't have money," Ma says. "What can I do? Nothing. My kids go to school here. The store lease cannot not be transferred and I would lose the deposit money so I cannot go back home."

Those with the means have left. As we drive through Dongguan we see flocks of migrant workers walking, carrying their belongings in huge bags made of blankets or plastic wraps. Some women carry children on their backs.

Some factories are surviving, such as the Weijia plastic production plant in Ma Yong Township. But even those still running receive fewer orders from foreign buyers, and have had to limit production. That means workers have less work to do and earn less money.

Migrants usually earn most of their money working overtime. Toiling 14 hours a day with only two days off a month used to be normal here. Workers could earn between $200-$250 a month this way. Now, with regular working hours and free weekends they are earning barely half of that. For many it's not worth it. "I will stay home after spring festival. I cannot continue working like this," says Yang Jiajing. "It is not even enough to pay for my food. I will do farm work or will try something else."

One of the factories we visited did not feel the crunch. Its example speaks volumes about the whole crises in Guangdong. The printing company Tai Da in Ma Yong Township produces exclusively for the Chinese market and is not reliant on exports. The workers are as busy as always, says the security guard at the company gate. The managers of the factory declined to talk a foreign journalist.

The Chinese government is trying to re-orient production for domestic markets. This, however, is a long-term project. Thousands of factories have simply run out of time.

BANGKOK, Thailand – The emerging scandal involving the Thai army's alleged mistreatment of hundreds of ethnic Rohingya from Burma is slowly getting more and more worrying each day.

This picture taken December 23 by a tourist to Thailand's Similan Islands shows handcuffed refugees under guard.

We don't know yet exactly what happened, but a dark picture of hundreds of deaths at sea is emerging, and some are laying the blame with the Internal Security Operations Command of the Thai army.

The Rohingya have long been persecuted in Burma (or Myanmar as the junta renamed it) – many are stateless, living in horrendous poverty on Burma's border with Bangladesh, unwanted and downtrodden.

Some 200,000 are on the Bangladeshi side of the border, scraping a living in sprawling refugee camps.

That context perhaps explains why so many thousand each year risk their lives in unseaworthy boats to try and find a better life in south-east Asia.

The men that boarded those boats must have known the journey would be perilous. They kissed good-bye to their wives and children and embarked on a voyage that was fraught with risk, destination unknown, but with the ultimate hope it would be transformative.

Just the slimmest chance of earning a few dollars a day in Malaysia, Indonesia or Thailand made it seem worth gambling with their lives. Watch how the refugees' plight came to light

Then imagine their overwhelming relief and delight at finally sighting land after days or perhaps even weeks adrift.

They'd made it – but what these refugees didn't know was this was Thailand, not Malaysia, and the reception would be less than welcoming.

What happened next is unclear. The army insists it did nothing wrong, that it was villagers who took the Rohingya to a remote island in December, where they cared for them until they were ready to leave.

But according to many of the Rohingya survivors' accounts, relayed to aid groups, they were detained by soldiers, beaten and intimidated and then towed back out to sea in their engineless boats, without sufficient food or water.

The lucky ones made it to either the Andaman Islands or Indonesia after weeks drifting at sea but many drowned as they jumped off the boats to try and make it to distant lights on the horizon or swimming in vain towards passing boats.

In the last couple of days the story has focused on another group of 46 Rohingya who came ashore in Thailand just last Friday.

Their whereabouts remains unknown. It's the same story for another group of 80 Rohingya who also arrived recently, possibly part of the original group which arrived in December.

The U.N. has asked for access to these 126 supposedly detained refugees, but the Thai government has dragged its feet for days.

Perhaps it simply doesn't know what became of them or perhaps it has something to hide?

There are reports that they may have already left Thailand, but that leaves more questions. When? How? The fear of course is that they have been dumped at sea again.

If this is true, it is utterly reprehensible and those responsible should be brought to justice.

The Thai prime minister has launched an inquiry, but many are wondering whether this will really result in any prosecutions. Read more from Dan Rivers on the scandal

All told, more than 500 Rohingya are missing and if the survivors are to be believed, the Thai army needs to be held to account.

This represents a major test of the credibility of Prime Minister Abhisit Vejjajiva.

I hope he has the courage to pursue a thorough, impartial and exhaustive inquiry into what has happened.

He needs to move fast – if these Rohingya are still in Thai custody, he must tell us where.

If they are not, who authorized their release, when were they set free and crucially how?

The prime minister has constantly reminded international audiences of the need to rebuild Thai society through the rule of law. This is his chance to put the rhetoric into action.

BEIJING, China - I don't know if I've ever seen so many people in one place, even in China. There must have been thousands, if not tens of thousands, at the Beijing East train station alone, all going home for the Chinese New Year holiday.

Thousands wait for their train at Beijing Railway Station

Officially, the Ministry of Railways predicts 188 million people will make the long journey home - at least. That's more than the population of countries as big as Russia and Japan. Some think the actual number will be much higher. Travel is already up 8% compared to last year.

Last year was a bad year. Vicious snowstorms battered China just about the time this mass migration was taking place. Transportation was crippled. People were stuck for days with no way to get home.

The state has upgraded the system since then. This year, things seem to be going more smoothly, aside from scalpers and counterfeiters. But, more people are traveling no thanks to the global economic crisis.

Millions of those going home are migrant workers who moved to China's cities in more prosperous times. In Beijing, they could make three times as much as they could in the country.  But China's economic engine has slowed down so fast jobs have dried up. The migrants leaving now may never come back. In more practical terms, they've spent the last of their savings on the trip home.

It struck me that many of the migrants at the Beijing East station were carrying their lives on their backs, or sleeping on them - resting their heads against giant packs as they waited for their train to depart. Ironically they're going home to celebrate the New Year, though it may be the most uncertain and difficult year of their lives.

SEOUL, South Korea– Many consider it the North Korean hello to the Obama administration.

North Korean leader Kim Jong Il, center, in Pyongyang with members of the Workers' Party of Korea

This past weekend - just days before Barack Obama was to be sworn in as the U.S. president - a belligerent North Korean military spokesman threatens military retaliation against U.S. ally South Korea for what it called the South's incursions into a disputed sea border.

Analysts took note of the fact that it was read out by a spokesman in full military dress in front of a TV camera - a very rare event thought to emphasize the seriousness of the situation.

South Korean military was put on a higher state of alert for any naval incursions as a result.

At around the same time, a government-controlled news agency in Pyongyang reported North Korea will not abandon nuclear weapons even after normalizing relations with Washington.

Some say this could be a reaction to comments by Secretary of State nominee Hillary Clinton during her confirmation hearings that North Korea must end its nuclear program before relations can be normalized with the United States. 

To top it off, Selig Harrison, a U.S. scholar who visited North Korea, says he was told by high-ranking officials that Pyongyang has already turned all its reprocessed plutonium into weapons, so it must be dealt with as a nuclear weapons state.

To North Korean watchers, it's typical of Pyongyang.

"It's a message to the new U.S. president that North Korea is also important," says Lee Kun, a North Korean analyst at Seoul National University.

Lee Chung-Min of Yonsei University says it seems more of a move to show the North Korean people the military has the situation under control. 

But North Korea has been known to act up at times of transition in the United States. 

Just after Bill Clinton started his presidency in 1993, North Korea announced it was pulling out of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty. And when George W. Bush started his second term in 2005, North Korea chose that time to announce it possessed nuclear weapons.

With North Korea being one of the world's most secretive regimes, it is hard for anyone to be sure of what its intentions are.

But one thing most analysts agree on is that if history is any gauge, this is a time to carefully watch what North Korea is telling the new U.S. president, in its own way.