I feel the sweat sommersault down my spinal column to the places my fingertips cannot wick them away and in numbers and with such frequency that doing so would be in vain, anyways. The sun has been overhead for what feels like hours now and it is pulling my skin tight across my nose, salty lips, and tattooed collarbones. My vintage hard top luggage makes a perfect impromptu bench as I defeatedly toss it onto the white sand carpeting Kuta beach. For the first time all day, my shoulders hunch forward defeatedly and the corners of my mouth gently soften from the ever present smile they are used to holding.
This was supposed to be perfect! Five days' vacation on the picturesque island of Bali. I had arranged a local couch to surf on through the official couch surfing network, with a back up. And back up to my back up. I was looking forward to spending my days gliding on glassy waves and my nights sipping cold Bintangs and dancing to reggae with my lovely hosts. My budget was meager, but I was secretly delighted in the challenge - I work best under pressure and pride myself on my fabulous frugality. Things went downhill very shortly after arriving in Kuta. My bags were held hostage by a cunning porter and released to me for nothing less than 1/3 of the money I had brought with me. The hotel that had been booked for my first night wouldn't let me check in without the credit card used to make the booking - my boss'. In Malaysia. So I had to find a room on my own. A room in a hotel with no air conditioning, but the bonus of a seedy proprietor who kept calling me 'sweetie' and 'baby' and inspired me to place a chest of drawers between me and the rattan French doors that night. For this pleasure, I was so lucky as to give away another 1/3 of my ever shrinking budget. My couch surfing host had decided not to respond to any of my attempts at communication, and as I waited for replies for the backups I needed to check out of my hotel. With nowhere to go and the promises of free accomadation growing fainter, I didn't want to spring for a taxi. So that's how I ended up walking 2k to the beach with my heavy duty suitcase.
Bob Dylan floated through my ever-reliable white earbuds and I entered an almost meditative state - paying attention to the slightest breeze dancing over my knees, feeling the sun slowly warm my bones, trying to find the place where the sky and ocean meet. It was understandable then, that I jumped when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I removed my earbuds and immediately felt at ease hearing the accent that had been on the lips of almost every one of my friends over th last year. 'Oi, mate! You alright? You've been sitting here for over an hour - with your luggage! What kind of crazy shit are you up to?' asked the smiling Aussie with the long, sun-bleached hair that covers the top of surfer's heads. 'Oh, just waiting for some friends,' I replied with manufactured confidence and optimism as my phone sat mute beside me. 'Okay, just making sure you're alright. If you need anything, we're just over there,' he replied, motioning over to a small gathering of people and surfboards parked under a palm tree. I thanked him with a genuine smile and he turned his brown back to me and sauntered over to join the group, who was now moving towards the water.
I guess one wasn't so keen on surfing, as about 10 minutes later he walked up to me with a smile and a wave. He was slightly older, probably 28 or 29 - older brother range, and had the same buttery brown skin and pineapple blonde locks as everyone on this beach seemed to posess. Small flecks of ocean water dotted my arms as he ran his hand over his shortly cropped hair and sat down beside me.
'Are you sure you're alright, girl? You look kinda bummed out.' I explained to him my situation so far and the rapid rate at which my hope for an upswing in luck was plunging. He lamented my bad luck with me and told me they were staying in a backpacker's lodge just a few blocks away. It was really cheap, full of young travellers, had a free breakfast, and they could take me there by motorbike. I thanked him profusely and told him greatfully that I'd love to take him up on his offer should I find myself needing accomadation. We began to chit chat about life and our travels so far and he asked my why I came all the way to Asia by myself, 'Looking to fall in love?' he teased, giving me a good-natured elbow. Then, I said something that surprised me with its honesty and the briskness with which it poured itself from my mouth, from my heart:
'I don't fall in love with boys anymore. Only oceans and mountains. Nothing that can break my heart.'
'Ouch. I'm guessing it may have been broken before. Rough deal, chickie. How many times?' I wiggle two fingers and am surprised at the emotion trying to force its way to the surface, rendering me mute and having me bite my lip lest I cry in front of a stranger. He nods solemnly, realising we are treading at the barrier in conversation. He can change the subject or pass into deeper waters.
'That's unfortunate,' he says and then choosing to go the latter route, 'you seem like you would be really easy to love. Not to be creepy, I have a girlfriend back home, but just....really. You're super super rad and despite the shit going on this weekend you're pretty level-headed. It's like you kind of see the world in its best way and that's admirable. It might be scary, you know just being your friend and the all of a sudden they're in too deep and they shy away. Two someones must have been pretty stupid.'
'That's really sweet. I guess so, it's just so much easier this way, you know? Oceans never let you down, mountains never leave. I have an amazing family and incredible friends who give me more than all the love I need. I'm like a ship. Boyfriends are anchors, they just weigh you down.'
'Aw, don't get bitter on me now! You met a few bad ones. So what? Open your eyes and your heart, kiddo! There are probably amazing people in your life right now who love you and you have no clue. They're not going to wait forever for you, ya know? Eat some honey to help stick your heart back together and be brave. The right one will be more like wind to your sails than an anchor. I know it's corny, but you used the analogy first.'
'I don't eat honey. I'm vegan,' I jokingly reply.
'Well, then I don't know. Eat some, what? Agave nectar or some shit! Something sweet and sticky. Hippie,' he laughs, the mood now lightened. 'Just promise you'll give some dude a shot someday, okay?' I make a pact to do so with my nod and the conversation travels onto things of less consequence until he asks if I'd like to borrow his board and catch a few waves. He hands me the smooth, mango-hued surfboard and goes off in search of a Fanta. As I shuffle through the sand with my board in tow, my mind is processing. I didn't know it yet, but the weekend would go much, much worse for me. However, I think that it would have been a lot harder to take if I hadn't decided with my first glassy wave to open my heart and love. And be loved. As the salty water messed up my hair, like the surrogate big brother sitting in the sand, I smiled to myself.
This was supposed to be perfect! Five days' vacation on the picturesque island of Bali. I had arranged a local couch to surf on through the official couch surfing network, with a back up. And back up to my back up. I was looking forward to spending my days gliding on glassy waves and my nights sipping cold Bintangs and dancing to reggae with my lovely hosts. My budget was meager, but I was secretly delighted in the challenge - I work best under pressure and pride myself on my fabulous frugality. Things went downhill very shortly after arriving in Kuta. My bags were held hostage by a cunning porter and released to me for nothing less than 1/3 of the money I had brought with me. The hotel that had been booked for my first night wouldn't let me check in without the credit card used to make the booking - my boss'. In Malaysia. So I had to find a room on my own. A room in a hotel with no air conditioning, but the bonus of a seedy proprietor who kept calling me 'sweetie' and 'baby' and inspired me to place a chest of drawers between me and the rattan French doors that night. For this pleasure, I was so lucky as to give away another 1/3 of my ever shrinking budget. My couch surfing host had decided not to respond to any of my attempts at communication, and as I waited for replies for the backups I needed to check out of my hotel. With nowhere to go and the promises of free accomadation growing fainter, I didn't want to spring for a taxi. So that's how I ended up walking 2k to the beach with my heavy duty suitcase.
Bob Dylan floated through my ever-reliable white earbuds and I entered an almost meditative state - paying attention to the slightest breeze dancing over my knees, feeling the sun slowly warm my bones, trying to find the place where the sky and ocean meet. It was understandable then, that I jumped when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I removed my earbuds and immediately felt at ease hearing the accent that had been on the lips of almost every one of my friends over th last year. 'Oi, mate! You alright? You've been sitting here for over an hour - with your luggage! What kind of crazy shit are you up to?' asked the smiling Aussie with the long, sun-bleached hair that covers the top of surfer's heads. 'Oh, just waiting for some friends,' I replied with manufactured confidence and optimism as my phone sat mute beside me. 'Okay, just making sure you're alright. If you need anything, we're just over there,' he replied, motioning over to a small gathering of people and surfboards parked under a palm tree. I thanked him with a genuine smile and he turned his brown back to me and sauntered over to join the group, who was now moving towards the water.
I guess one wasn't so keen on surfing, as about 10 minutes later he walked up to me with a smile and a wave. He was slightly older, probably 28 or 29 - older brother range, and had the same buttery brown skin and pineapple blonde locks as everyone on this beach seemed to posess. Small flecks of ocean water dotted my arms as he ran his hand over his shortly cropped hair and sat down beside me.
'Are you sure you're alright, girl? You look kinda bummed out.' I explained to him my situation so far and the rapid rate at which my hope for an upswing in luck was plunging. He lamented my bad luck with me and told me they were staying in a backpacker's lodge just a few blocks away. It was really cheap, full of young travellers, had a free breakfast, and they could take me there by motorbike. I thanked him profusely and told him greatfully that I'd love to take him up on his offer should I find myself needing accomadation. We began to chit chat about life and our travels so far and he asked my why I came all the way to Asia by myself, 'Looking to fall in love?' he teased, giving me a good-natured elbow. Then, I said something that surprised me with its honesty and the briskness with which it poured itself from my mouth, from my heart:
'I don't fall in love with boys anymore. Only oceans and mountains. Nothing that can break my heart.'
'Ouch. I'm guessing it may have been broken before. Rough deal, chickie. How many times?' I wiggle two fingers and am surprised at the emotion trying to force its way to the surface, rendering me mute and having me bite my lip lest I cry in front of a stranger. He nods solemnly, realising we are treading at the barrier in conversation. He can change the subject or pass into deeper waters.
'That's unfortunate,' he says and then choosing to go the latter route, 'you seem like you would be really easy to love. Not to be creepy, I have a girlfriend back home, but just....really. You're super super rad and despite the shit going on this weekend you're pretty level-headed. It's like you kind of see the world in its best way and that's admirable. It might be scary, you know just being your friend and the all of a sudden they're in too deep and they shy away. Two someones must have been pretty stupid.'
'That's really sweet. I guess so, it's just so much easier this way, you know? Oceans never let you down, mountains never leave. I have an amazing family and incredible friends who give me more than all the love I need. I'm like a ship. Boyfriends are anchors, they just weigh you down.'
'Aw, don't get bitter on me now! You met a few bad ones. So what? Open your eyes and your heart, kiddo! There are probably amazing people in your life right now who love you and you have no clue. They're not going to wait forever for you, ya know? Eat some honey to help stick your heart back together and be brave. The right one will be more like wind to your sails than an anchor. I know it's corny, but you used the analogy first.'
'I don't eat honey. I'm vegan,' I jokingly reply.
'Well, then I don't know. Eat some, what? Agave nectar or some shit! Something sweet and sticky. Hippie,' he laughs, the mood now lightened. 'Just promise you'll give some dude a shot someday, okay?' I make a pact to do so with my nod and the conversation travels onto things of less consequence until he asks if I'd like to borrow his board and catch a few waves. He hands me the smooth, mango-hued surfboard and goes off in search of a Fanta. As I shuffle through the sand with my board in tow, my mind is processing. I didn't know it yet, but the weekend would go much, much worse for me. However, I think that it would have been a lot harder to take if I hadn't decided with my first glassy wave to open my heart and love. And be loved. As the salty water messed up my hair, like the surrogate big brother sitting in the sand, I smiled to myself.
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