Rock Bottom

It all started with an outrageously manipulative Dutch boy in Borneo. In less than three weeks, respiratory infections, delayed flights, miscommunications, forest fires, objectification, swasticas, loneliness, shit air quality, personal space, twisted accusations and the monsoon got involved.

At 12:15 AM on Sunday, September 17^th, following such a plethora of factors coming from so many directions I couldn’t keep track if I tried, I hit rock bottom for the first time in over two years. Hard. The last straw involved my exhausted self, riding a wave of triumph after a long, successful afternoon mission in the city, catching the ferry home from Central at the right time from the right pier, waking after midnight to arrive on the wrong island with a pointed lack of onward transport until morning.

The tattoo on my right arm reads: “In the midst of movement and chaos, keep stillness inside of you.” Moments like this are exactly why that text wraps my arm. Sometimes the entire situation just feels utterly futile.

I passed the night protecting my gear from my new friendly pet rat, getting cozy with cockroaches and mosquitoes as I snoozed on the world’s classiest metal park bench under a blessedly unrainy sky. My newly reunited slackline pillowed my head until the temperature dropped just enough that sleep ceased to be an option in my sweaty, sticky t-shirt, board shorts and utter lack of insulation. Safe to say, climbing the next day on my first opportunity in five months was cancelled.

I caught the morning interisland ferry from Peng Chau back to Mui Wo, walked my ass home, slept until the afternoon and ate some hippy chia seeds in almond milk.

Then I discovered my sunglasses were missing.

Occasionally I just have to pick my head up, remember how goddam lucky I am and punch forward into the sludge. Somehow, it always gets better.