1 & 2 June 2025
I woke early yesterday. My bags were already packed, except for my toiletries and pajamas. As I unzipped my tent, the familiar mix of emotions stirred in my chest. I walked to my favorite spot — Pyramid Rock, my workout tree stump (a dead tree I’d been using as a bench on the mornings I made it down early enough), and my favorite tree. All three stood in their quiet way, yet seemed to greet me warmly on this final morning.
It may sound strange, but as an elemental, my connection with nature and the elements runs deep — different from how others may experience it. I draw energy from them, I speak to them, I feel their unique vibrations aligning with the very core of my being. The shimmer of sunlight on gentle waves, the rustle of bright green leaves, the birds whose song I’ve heard but never seen, the warmth of the sun on my skin, and the smooth embrace of the giant rock I loved to sit upon — all of it feels like a part of me. They recharge me in ways human language can’t quite hold.
As usual, when I stepped into the shallow waves, a baby shark appeared, then disappeared just as quickly. I smiled, stood still, and slowly turned to take it all in. My mind drifted back to that first moment I saw this paradise, the moment I truly felt like a real-life Moana. The heaviness in my heart lifted. Nothing else mattered — not the tensions, not the misunderstandings. These weeks were a gift. The memories, the magic… they are mine forever.
On my last evening, I was offered an apology for the way I’d been treated. I accepted it with a smile. There was no point holding on to bad energy. We’re all human, sent to trigger each other, to push and be pushed, to grow. I wasn’t angry anymore. When invited to join them for the fire show, I happily agreed. Sitting in the dark on an old fisherman’s boat, everything felt okay again.
Writing my message on the reception wall, saying goodbye to Chef and the kittens, I had to swallow back tears. I love this place. Four weeks here have changed me forever.
As the boat pulled away and the island grew smaller, a single tear escaped. A piece of my heart will always remain there, floating in turquoise water and glimmers of golden sunlight.
After a quick lunch at the coffee shop by the jetty, I walked to the bus stop. It was 1:30 pm; the bus was due at 3. The wait shouldn’t have been long — but in Malaysia, buses, though far more comfortable than in India, aren’t known for punctuality. By 5 pm I was more than a little annoyed. When we finally left Kuala Besut, I knew I wouldn’t reach Kuala Lumpur until the early morning hours.
Broken sleep in an overnight bus is nothing new to me, but by 3 am I finally stumbled into bed in a tiny, dark, airless hostel room. I didn’t care — I fell asleep instantly — only to be woken every few minutes by slamming doors, light streaming through strange openings at the top of the walls, and voices as loud as if they were in my own room.
When I got up to meet Fabrice and the other volunteer, I was already miserable. This place… is awful. Small, dark, no fresh air, paper-thin walls. The ‘shared AC’ system is especially absurd — openings between rooms are meant to let the cool air circulate, but all it does is make the nearest rooms freezing and the furthest (like mine) hot and stuffy.
How I’ll stay here for two months, I honestly don’t know. No matter how kind Fabrice and Chaimah, the other receptionist, seem to be, this feels like a prison cell. I’ve already applied for three other positions on Worldpackers.
