I'm sitting alone at my table, slapping and scratching. I don't notice anyone else scratching.
Why am I the only one scratching?
I finish my dinner quickly and go out onto the beach - the mosquitos are less active there. I set my things on a chair and wade out into the water - warm, and the waves big enough to splash above my knees.
The waves knock into me and I pant my feet deeper in the sand. The undercurrent is strong.
"I don't belong."
I think of my interactions over the last few days. My efforts to connect are an effort to feel as though I belong. Why didn't Greg invite me into the conversation with Natalie and Sebastian? Because he and Sebastian had a thing going according to their buzz. I didn't fit their agenda.
"I don't belong." That's the feeling, what's communicated from the exclusion - the lack of response.
Maybe I know why. I don't fit into any of the cultural stereotypes. I'm the only middle-aged woman at this Thai resort, and I'm traveling alone.
White and fleshy, with mosquito bites.
No tan lines. No tattoos.
I dig my feet into the sand. Deep, up to my ankles. I feel the skin of my soles press against the rough, broken bone and shells. The waves push against me.
I'm in my body - can feel it in contact with the watery earth.
I stand still. I notice myself feeling my soles.
I stand some more.
I stand and breath, until I feel my breath all the way down into my pelvis.
I go deep. I go wide.
I release my sorrow into her.
I don't have to try. I'm a natural.
I was born into a body made for this. I am of the energy that carries. I am of the energy that holds.
I am of the energy that provides the nurturing context - unconditionally.
She is big. She is so incredibly big. And I am of her, and with her, and I am also big. This is where I'm connected. This is home.
I'm no tourist.
I'm the destination.