I’ve never suggested that I was an easy going character. Alcohol may have supported my role in acting more chilled, whilst sobriety has allowed for me to perform in life with a more chilled disposition…but no, I’m not an easy going character. I’m not a horrible person. I’m not putting myself down. I’m merely stating the bloody obvious. These last 65hrs have proved that.

I sit here on my last flight. My fourth in a row. I feel dilusional, achey, lost and tired. I haven’t seen my toothbrush since Saturday morning back in Chicago. It is now Monday afternoon. I can feel both my teeth and my spirit decaying.

I have had to buy additional flights, accommodation, and travel in order to sit here right now on my final flight; Bali being the destination.

This has been a mission. So many little things that I did not even pick up on during my vigorous research. Julia Roberts (Eat, Pray, Love) didn’t mention that you could only stay in Bali for 30 days, and that you needed proof of your next flight out of Bali before entering the country!? She did an awful lot during her mere 30 days out there. She found happiness, found herself, found love…I can’t even find my toothbrush! I better get cracking.

So this is what they do is it? THEY. They toy with your plans, they test your patience, test your sanity and strip you of all control right before plonking you in paradise? Well anything is going to feel like paradise after this! Like Julia, I better find my soul whilst I’m out here, because I was stripped of any remements of it during the third security gate and strip search!

I have been the James Bond of travellers. Swooping for last minute connective flights, battling bookings and cheating the system (not really); and this has only been week two! My friend Dustin has been my Moneypenny. Linked up to his latop, even when flying himself, he has been feeding me insight information relating to boarding loads, standby numbers, and gate locations, whilst checking me in on last minute changes, flight purchases and emotional meltdowns.

The end of a great Bond film always finishes with Bond surrounded by white sand, draped in a kaftan, with their humble beach house in the near distance. Is this it? Is this about to be my Bond finale? My bon voyage to this flight fright, and a tranquil transcend into paradise?

I look around at everyone on board the plane; studying their structure and aesthetic, wondering what their reasons for their journey to Bali were. Hareem pants, tattoos, Sandy surfer locks, and open toe sandals fill the seats of this VA35 flight. I quickly scan myself and my attire. Semi-precious crystals? Check. Kahki or beige clothing? Check. Tattoos? Check. Embarassed? CHECK.

With one hour to go, I lean towards the white glow that is framing the sealed window shutter and breaking into the dark, dense plane. I slide the shutter up, cautious that I may turn into dust when exposed to this long absent light. The sea looks different. It’s teal. It looks light and calm. The grey heavy weighted clouds have dispersed and the sky is now decorated with a light scatter of white meringue.

The plane descends.

I am here. It’s happening. My Bali beginning.

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