26 & 27 May 2025
I’ve lost track of what day it is. If it weren’t for Abby and Kate’s company keeping me sane these last few days, I might have given in to delirium, drawn a face on the camp’s soccer ball, and named it Wilson.
Yesterday was a write-off — I was exhausted.
Sunday (Facebook had to remind me it was a weekend) brought a big event: a group of government officials, mostly from the local mainland prison, visited to give talks to villagers, research eco-preservation on the island, and join us at Juita for lunch.
It was chaos all morning — scurrying around to prep meals, tables, and seating. Nothing here is planned far in advance; last-minute madness is just… normal. I don’t enjoy that kind of rush, especially when I have no idea what’s going on. As usual, I hadn’t been briefed and found myself awkwardly trying to look useful.
At least they gave us cute branded t-shirts — a small souvenir of the madness. The officials were friendly, full of curiosity, snapping selfies, and asking for Instagram handles. Usually fine, but sometimes tiring. For once, I wasn’t the center of attention; poor Kate bore the brunt of the photo requests — apparently, she’d been voted “prettiest of the volunteers” for the day.
The heat these past days has been relentless — yesterday and today included. Sleeping is impossible, cooling down is impossible, and my emotions have been running haywire. Eventually, I had no choice but to ask if something could be done to block the sun from my tent. It had become unbearable.
No matter how much I drink, I feel dehydrated. Extra vitamins and minerals haven’t helped. I mentioned my tent situation to Pokme, our local handyman, when the “higher in command” walked past and asked what was wrong. I tried to explain gently — I really didn’t want to be a nuisance — but before I’d even finished, his face tightened. He said they might “look at it in a few days.”
That wouldn’t work. I gently asked again, hoping for understanding.
Instead, he looked me straight in the eyes and said,
“You should be more considerate — we are busy.”
And then he walked away.
I was stunned. What?
This was not okay.
Upset, I walked down to the beach to breathe, but the truth was heavy in my chest: I wasn’t okay anymore. This wasn’t okay anymore. And I could feel the edge of some unspoken power struggle pressing in.
How did paradise sour so quickly?
Looking back, this wasn’t the first clash with a superior. Not because I wasn’t working or being unreasonable — in fact, it made no sense at all. For a moment, old insecurities crept in: What’s wrong with me then?
But my newly rewired self caught it instantly:
No. This isn’t about worth. This is about alignment.
The answer dropped in clear as sunlight on water:
“You’re being pushed out because you’re in the wrong place.”
And then I understood.
My volunteering time is over. I’m no longer twenty, drifting without direction. I know my purpose now. I’ve worked, studied, and walked through lesson after lesson. I have the qualifications on every level. The universe has been whispering for a while — it’s time to step fully into my role as Priestess, Guide, Leader, Healer, Mentor.
Helping out with general duties has served its season. That season is done.
For now, volunteering is still my only option — I have two more months in Malaysia and no budget for accommodation and meals. But the universe is, as always, ahead of me. A few days ago, I received an invitation from Dorms KL, a hostel in Kuala Lumpur. I’ll accept, learn what I can from them, and when I return to India… no more hiding. I’ll step into the fullness of who I’ve become, permanently.
So yes — my time in “paradise” is ending. I’m sad… but also ready. If I’m honest, I’m done with camping too. It’s been beautiful, but when a season is over, forcing the connection only makes it uncomfortable.
