So I, put my cards on the table.

We met in lazy town, on a lazy Tuesday night.

I’d arrived a few days prior, and was staying at place that seemed at odds with me. It was large, with many empty spaces. The floors were a tiled white, and the walls were painted crazy neon colours. It was a theme that was so stimulating yet so passive, so much going on but with so little feeling. I’d wander around and see micro-groups of people sitting together, but the environment didn’t suggest an invitation to join. I was uncomfortable, disengaged, and isolated, so naturally, my inner drama queen decided that based on this experience I was having at the place I was staying, that this was not the town for me. What had made this place feel this way? Was the sterile cleanliness of it all? Was it the outlandish theme? Or maybe it was that I was telling myself I don’t fit in here, like i’d so frequently done before. I convinced myself I don’t belong.

The Virgo in me had already booked accomodation and travel to the next destination, not out of genuine interest in exploring the area, but rather out of wanting to remove myself from the discomfort I was feeling. In doing so, I’d made myself a safety net. In fact, I’d made myself two safety nets. Id booked myself a room somewhere else in this lazy town, because I had feared that the first safety net might have been the wrong decision and id only know on the day of departure.  I had entered the state of indecision, manifesting as either decision paralysis or decision overload.

I decided to make a concerted effort to socialise one last time. To sit with those that were around, to feel more uncomfortable and see what happens. What could go wrong? I could try for a socialise, and if that failed (or when that failed), I’d already confirmed Plan B, and also Plan C. And probably Plan D if Plan C failed. An open-mic night was on put on the table, as though the Gods above had tapped into the one thing they knew would pique my interest. Live music. It was on the day I had planned departure for Plan A. So naturally, at that moment, Plan A went in the bin.

It was the first time I saw him. Not too much attention paid in particular, I’d just clocked all the various musicians that were on stage that night. There was a bronzed man with shoulder length curls who seemed to be running the evening, the Israeli bassist, whose group of ex-pat cronies were handing out wine like it was water from a tap. There was the girl that sang angelically, but struggled to flow with others, a cheery girl with a ukulele and joyful voice, a woman on the drums who seemed eager to quit the messing around and play the damn music. And there was him, on the right, singing and playing the guitar. My new found friends and I stayed until the end, watching the various musicians take their turns on stage while quenching our thirst with the Israeli’s wine, the local lager and the spirit liquor Arak (a dark rum-ish spirit with a liquorice twist).

Feeling nice and relaxed from the effects of our efforts, we’d made our way to a bar that was not so lazy. It was packed to the rafters, the music was average, and the sound was somewhat harsh on the senses after the feel-good acoustic session. I found myself needing a break, needing a cigarette. Needing some me time to sit with that feeling creeping in once more that this was not the place for me. So, I pranced downstairs, noticed him there on the right preparing a rollie, and decided to strike up a conversation in the hopes that I may be granted the saving grace that comes with that first inhale of a smoke. He was funny, charming, with gorgeous lofty curls and big smile. With a terrible pick-up line, so much silly laughing and so much silly dancing, I’d felt a deep sense of comfort. The hours of the evening were dissipating. I started to feel as though I belonged somewhere, and that somewhere was wherever this person was. We left the bar together, and as we stood out side, he kissed my lips gently and we went our separate ways.

The following morning, I received a message from him. Another open mic, this time in a place that had a more relaxed energy than the previous night. Ok, which Plan goes in this bin today? The place I had originally booked was actually the place of the bar we were at the previous night, unbeknownst to me, so madly I decided to cancel, as that too was not my vibe. So Plan B went in the bin and I started planning for Plan C. Another little guest house nearby, it was cheap, and still close to the main areas I wished to be. I packed up my things and headed there, only to find that they had double booked my room and he did not in fact have any more rooms. This felt like a real fork in the road for me. Am I meant to be in this town? Are the omens not trying to push me away? Or, am I being asked to face the discomfort? I went and grabbed a coffee, and decided to ask myself what were my intentions for this vacation. I wanted to spend my time at the beach. I wanted little to no expectations and I didn’t really want to move around too much, I didn’t want traipsing around the country to eat into the few days I had.  Sure it felt like there were signs pointing me the direction to leave, but, there was one big sign asking me to stay. So I decided to stay. With Plan C also in the bin, I gave one last effort to stay. Plan D.

Plan D was a guest house by the beach, and slightly out of town. From the lounging area, you could look right out to the surf break, aptly named Lazies. The room was bright, white, and full of light. I felt like a real beach bum as soon as I entered it. It felt, right? In that room,  my mind felt clear. I began to feel at ease, and slowly once more started to relax into my vacation. I messaged my new friends (shock horror the socialising was a success) about the open mic, and we all decided to head there for the evening’s activity.

He arrived after we did, big beautiful smile on his face as he wandered over to say hi. When he wasn’t on stage gracing the micro-world of south-west Sri Lanka with his talent, he would sit with me, and we would talk. He was so charming, and once more that feeling of comfort embraced me like a warm blanket. I liked him. At my request, we walked home, and continued to talk. The more we talked, the more I wanted to talk. What is for you, wont pass you, I remember him saying. He would move me to the inside, so that he was on the road side, and every time he touched me I could feel his warmth. We arrived at my new beach house, and I invited him in.

The next day him and I spent riding up and down the coast, searching for glimmers of surf at various locations. The swell was dying, but there were still fun waves to be found. We pulled up to beach, and like many other days were spent, found some lounges and shared some coconuts. It was beginning to feel as though i’d known this persons for far longer than the few hours we’d spent together, and I could feel the hopeless romantic in me begin to awaken. I laughed, so, so much with him. He was so sweet, so caring. So fun to be around. The surf we shared that evening was one of the more memorable ones I’d had the entire vacation. We came across it unexpectedly. The waves were a lovely 1-2ft, coming through regularly, but the best part was the lack of people, just a handful rather that than the tens of thousands that flocked to the other beaches. I’d had the most funnest day with the most funnest person. We shared dinner with his friends, and then he dropped me home. It turned out that Plan D happened to be at the end of road he was staying in. 

The following day was much the same. More surfing, more eating. I spent the day listening to his music while making myself busy very silly holiday errands like editing photos and laundry. I was beginning to feel so comfortable in that state of no commitments. No hard and fast plans that needed attending, no deadlines, no alarm clocks. Just coasting along with what ever felt necessary in that moment. Was I back in the flow?

The past few months at home had evaporated for me. From illness, to work, to silly season, it felt as though I hadn’t had a moment of clarity for sometime. I had felt on the edge of burnout more than once and to top it all off, I had engaged in the most adult activity so far of buying a house. While all for good cause and exciting events, my mind felt at capacity, if not over.

Later that day, I met with him and his friend, and we spent the afternoon and evening completing various silly side quests. I couldn’t  help but think how similar this was to Mexico. Could this be happening again? How could I be so lucky to have a second chance at something so immense. We had played with the idea of heading out to the main party that was on for the Friday evening, and eventually decided that that would be the main quest for the evening. Once more, I found my self having so much fun with him, his friend and the remaining people. I was becoming better and better at my socialising again, reminding myself that I not only do I enjoy socialising, but that I am in fact, a part of the greater circle, and not an outsider like I’d keep telling myself. We stayed there until the early hours of the morning. The group moved from the dance floor to the obligatory cuddle puddle, and back to the dance floor. I‘d met people from my other hostel and I felt like I was part of a big community again. More so than id felt in recent times. 

He, his friend and I ended the evening with a clothe-less dip in the ocean. It was the first night there had been stars, as many of the evenings had been covered in cloud. We stripped off, ran into the water and immersed our bodies into the warm salty bath of the Indian Ocean. We were singing and dancing, laughing like children. It all felt so present, so aware in that one moment, and we all were lucky enough to share it with each other. From that time on until the day I left, the three of us together became this platonic threesome. We dropped his friend home, and returned to the beach house.

Once inside, I made my way to the bathroom, removed my clothes and ran the shower. The water temperature, as always, was just below luke-warm as it poured over my head. He followed me in.

We washed each other bodies, gliding our hands over areas, exploring the texture of each other’s skin, removing the grains of sand that remained from our final side quest, reminiscing on the silliness of the evening. I turned the shower off and we stood dripping wet and naked. He cradled my head and kissed me deeply. I felt the slight prickle of his beard against my cheeks as I ran my hands through his hair, holding his face against mine not wanting our lips to part. He had one hand on my lower back and pulled my body closer to his.

With our lips connected, I entered a trance. I sensed our spirits disconnect from our bones  and rise above us both, watching us move in synchronisation with each other. I physically relaxed into a state of flow, for minutes that I willed to last longer. He asked for a towel, and then wrapped me in it. He dried my body from head to toe before drying himself. We moved to the bed, but it was in those drenched moments before that the hopeless romantic had fallen in love with this person.

The next days were spent learning more about each other, what were the events in life that had led us to this time both literally and figuratively. People’s eyes would watch us as what we shared would seep into our surroundings, unable to be confined or restricted. What kind of a spiral had we found ourselves in? We were posed with the dilemma of leaning into it, or taking a step back to acknowledge the reality of the life outside of paradise.

In hindsight, I wonder if the eyes of those around us had magnified the emotion, the pressure to live out this love story such to the point it became overwhelming. The questions about how long we’d been together, what we’re going to do, how will we see each other again became common place, thoughts that possibly neither of us had actually thought about, or felt the need to think about until they were posed? What is for us, wont pass us would come to mind, but was that really enough? What if this, and what about that thoughts began to infiltrate, and it became harder to live in the moment.

I felt on the edge of a cliff surrounded by the ocean. Land was safety, a space where emotion would behave and logic would prevail. The ocean was temptation, with siren sounds of passion ringing loud and the promise of deep love on the horizon. The ocean was also sharp edges and dangerous waves that threatened deep pain if the journey were to fail. Sat on the cliff edge I questioned, do I trust the drop? Do I trust that there would be a safe landing if I were take the plunge? I’d not been at the edge of this cliff since that magic month in Mexico and past-me had decided that the right thing, the thing that I “should” do would be to back-peddle away from the edge, return to safety and live there for a while longer. I couldn’t help but feel that the universe was offering me another opportunity to make a different decision. Insanity would be to repeat the action and expect a different result would it not?

The coming days I felt a shift. A cloud of unease, of worry and discomfort, began to lower onto us. He was walking away from the edge. And I stubbornly sat there gazing out onto the horizon dreaming dreams of dreams. Nothing changed the way it felt when our lips connected. Every time we kissed I felt the energy of our spirits. They did not engage in the mortal world of worry. But our poor fleshy brains were no match for the physical life.

Whilst still there was love, the shift was undeniable. I resisted the urge to ask why it was happening, for fear of what he might say. Fear that he might confirm the unfathomable truths of my own insecurities. I too, started to walk away from the edge. Back to safety, toying with the idea of leaving this paradise to find my own sense of self again. I knew it wasn’t really what I wanted, but it felt as though once more it was what I “should” do. He was playing a gig that night, and I decided that the next day I would leave to go into the hills. He’d asked me if I’d come to his gig, but at that point couldn’t commit to it. I needed to mentally prepare for leaving him the next day. That was what I should do, wasn’t it? This little hopeless romantic’s awakened heart was getting ready to extinguish the flame with the tears of another love lost.

Once more I found myself at a fork in the road. Did it feel right to abandon ship so suddenly? Not quite. The indecision was creeping in again, taking over the veins of my body as it started to contract my muscles into the decision paralysis.  A friend stopped by on their way to the gig, and in a split second, I decided that I would join, binning all thoughts of leaving until tomorrow. As we walked in, I saw his eyes searching for me, eventually landing on mine. It was the same eyes, the same smile I’d seen him lay on me before. The smile was soft, nearly unrecognisable if you hadn’t seen it before.  It was real, and it was true. He was glad that I was there. We shared a smoke, his arm around me, and once more I felt our spirits leave our bodies. I wasn’t leaving the next day.

Although that cloud never truly lifted for the remainder of my stay, I still felt as though the decision not to leave was the right one. I had some beautiful surfs over the coming mornings, those types of mornings where the sun rises bringing the pale morning hues with it. The water was glass, so clear and so blue that you could see right down to the bottom of the reef, gazing upon the turtles as they would swim below you and next to you. The joys of being an early-morning riser meant that I was sharing these moments with less than a handful of people at a time. The remaining days were filled with laughter, more side quests, and the greatest group of friends you could imagine.

Eventually, the time had come for me to leave. We spent the day together, indulging in the last few moments of each other’s company before my return to reality. I yearned to stay, to take the plunge, but, the universe had other plans. What is for us wont pass us, and so I made my way back to Australia. 

The point is, not to resist the flow. You go up when you’re supposed to go up and down when you’re supposed to go down. When you’re supposed to go up, find the highest tower and climb to the top. When you’re supposed to go down, find the deepest well and go down to the bottom. When there’s no flow, stay still. If you resist the flow, everything dries up. If everything dries up, the world is darkness.
– The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Haruki Murakami

At first I had resonated this in relation to past lovers, that I must wait for the right moment to take action so we’d meet again. But now I wonder if I’m sat on the banks of the river waiting for the flow because another would come along. Maybe that person isn’t a real person. Maybe who I am waiting for to come along is in fact the real me.

And now, song that seemed to frame this adventure quite nicely…