on an island in thailand

There is a modest house in the jungle on an island in Thailand, flanked on one side by a rubber plantation and by a drunken Nazi neighbor on the other (don’t ask). In that house, for seven months (the blink of an eye), I learned to live life at a snail’s pace and to sink further into myself; dwelling, nesting and escaping.

I can’t make my travel story out to be something that it wasn't... it wasn't about becoming infinitely brave or anything grand or noble. But I can make my travel story out to be exactly what it was: me, a fairly wimpy girl, staying in a foreign country with no job, no direction, no great wealth... it was a personal study in escapism.