6 & 7 May 2025
Somewhere in the middle of the night, the bus pulled into its usual roadside rest stop.
It’s always such a strange, in-between moment — fluorescent lights flickering over sleepy travelers, unfamiliar smells wafting from food stalls, and dazed figures emerging from buses like extras from a sci-fi dreamscape. Smokers always rush out first, forming awkward clouds of silence and cigarette smoke. The women’s restrooms are inevitably chaotic. And then there’s that question: to eat or not to eat at this hour?
This time, I went with a milky drink and an unnaturally colored slice of cake — not ideal, but sometimes your options are limited to sweet, neon junk and a growling belly.
Back on the bus, I drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Then, suddenly — a tap on the shoulder. We were in Kuala Besut.
Six hours had vanished like mist. Somehow, it was morning already.
Waiting for me was Grace, a traveler I’d connected with through Facebook. Her bus had arrived a little earlier, and she greeted me with a big smile as we laughed over my near-miss bus drama. We headed toward the jetty, just a short walk away. The seaside town was still rubbing the sleep from its eyes — the streets were quiet, and locals were slowly setting up for the day. Within moments, we were approached by a man offering boat tickets, warning us that if we didn’t leave before 8am, a local “tax man” might charge extra. True or not, we didn’t argue. We were tired and ready.
By 7am, we were gliding out into the sea on separate boats, the chatter of fellow tourists softening as the ocean took over. The wind sang through our hair, and a soft-pink horizon opened in front of us like a blessing.
Breathing in the salty air, my soul began to dance.
The ocean does that to me — awakens something ancient and free. It’s not just happiness. It’s home.
As the boat bounced over choppy waves, the sky shifted into vibrant peach and gold. The island slowly came into view. It was one of the most breathtaking sunrises I’ve ever seen.
I glanced at the boatman — a round, jolly Malay man with his hair blowing wildly in the wind — and a giggle escaped my heart.
Am I Moana…?
Childlike joy bubbled up inside me, and I couldn’t stop grinning. This was a dream come alive.
The boat pulled up to a tiny jetty.
Lush green jungle clung to massive boulders, spilling toward white sands.
Turquoise waves sparkled in the sun. It was surreal — more beautiful than any photo could ever capture. I stood there stunned, backpack forgotten, heart wide open.
I’d arrived at Juita Glamping Camp, and I could barely believe this would be my home for the next few weeks. I blinked again and again as if I might wake up. Even the coffee I sipped over breakfast felt dreamlike.
Then came another friendly smile, leading me to my tent.
I was told to rest, take the day, enjoy the island.
Oh… how I would enjoy this island.
I changed into my bikini in record time and ran straight into the warmest ocean water I’ve ever felt.
There, in knee-deep crystal-clear water, I laughed out loud as fish swam around my feet.
Bliss. Pure bliss.
Later, I had a brief meeting with Lukeman, the camp manager, and was introduced to the other two volunteers — two girls from France who had already been here for four weeks. Work would begin tomorrow.
But I already knew:
Three or four weeks wouldn’t be enough.
This was paradise, and I was staying longer.
