LAand pedicures feel like so long ago already.
Mark and Joe also went off for an elephant ride yesterday, but I felt ethically ambiguous about it and worried I might try and orchestrate alarge-scaleelephant-nap if I saw any of them in chains, so Mark made a unilateral decision that I wasn’t welcome. Then we went on thismind-blowingly incredible hikeup to a waterfall and we all stood there for close to an hour, colourful butterflies circling us, just silently marvelling at how magical the whole thing was.
Then it rained a lot and felt less magical, but still, I will never forget the feeling of standing there, under that waterfall.
But, if I’m honest, wonderful as it all was, our bus conversation has been there between Mark and methat whole time. Underneath everything. Underpinning the joy.
Maybe that’s why I’m feeling so disconnected and ... unfinished?
I haven’t even really written my blog properly. Actually, to be honest, I’m starting to feel like it’s all a bit silly and pointless. I’ve been trying to do this glossy shiny thing online, like Constance Beaumont does, and it is not working. I’m trying to makeall of this travelling stuff sound so glorious and perfect, which it hasn’t always been. It’s been fun at times, but also messy and complicated. But people don’t want to hear about the insect bites and the petty bickering, do they? Oh, I don’t know.
We’re going to spend another week here, and then we’re heading up to north Thailand for the final week. And then ... I still don’t know.I just don’t know where to spend my third month. I’ve been looking at a whole range of places but I haven’t booked anything just yet. I’m considering India because – no disrespect to Shaman Gary – it would be nice to meet some proper gurus. Except I am worried that I will end up asking them for advice on my crappy love life, instead of bigger picture stuff about the world. I feel like that mightnot be cool and I don’t want anyone who may or may not be in contact with a higher being to know how shallow a person I really am.
Constance Beaumont’s latest post had her in Indonesia, which sounds incredible and isn’t too far from here, in a global context. I’m very into that idea. I’m also really tempted by Brazil, Argentina – that area of the world. I could even attend a proper Ayahuascaretreat if I made it to Peru. But maybe I’ve had enough deep, intense looks into my being for now.
The idea originally was fun inLA,soul-searching in Thailand, and then maybe a physically arduous adventure for the third part? But now my deadline is fast approaching and I’m realising you probably kind of need to be fit or do some training to climb a mountain. Right? I could get on a boatand sail about, I guess, but again, I think you need to know, like,stuff. There are, I don’t know, ropes and wheels and shit on boats, aren’t there? Unless I got on a cruise? But that feels maybe forty years premature.
A minute passes as we silently watch Adam Sandler playing Adam Sandler.
‘Look Joe,’ I begin urgently. ‘I—’
A voice in the doorway interrupts our moment.
‘Helloyou two,’ Mark says, his voice giving nothing away. Joe and I exchange a look. How long has he been standing there?
He wanders in, passing the sink andabsent-mindedly picks up my hairbrush. He twirls it in his hands. There is an expectant tension in the air.
‘Al, have you decided what you’re going to do next, yet?’ he says, suddenly sounding a bit serious. ‘You know, after Thailand.’
I sigh, glancing at Joe. ‘No. Still no.’ I pause. ‘I was thinking maybe I could go do something super healthy? Some kind of fitness retreat. It’ll be like going to jail – I’ll get so fit andglow-y. I’ll have a bunch of colonic irrigations, detox and return to theUKlooking like a Pussycat Doll.’
‘Just like prison,’ Joe nods.
‘That sounds like a reasonable goal,’ Mark adds, but heseems distracted, fiddling with the brush. He turns to face me then, a determined look on his face.
‘Look,’ he takes a deep breath. ‘I know you don’t want me to do this, but I need to try one more time to convince you to change your mind about Mum. The last time I tried on the bus, I came in too hot, I know I did. I was angry, and I shouldn’t have been, because this isn’t about guilting youinto forgiving her, this is about helping you. I want to help you.’
He stops and I look straight down. He’s talking nonsense.Help me? I am helping me. Staying away from our family is all about helping me. That’s what this whole estrangement thingis about. He sits down in the chair opposite and takes a deep breath.
Joe pulls the cover back and slips out of the bed. ‘I’ll give you guysa minute,’ he murmurs, slipping out of the room.
For a moment Mark sits there quietly.
‘Please listen to me,’ he says suddenly, in a pleading voice. ‘Forget about Mum for a minute, and forget about Steven lying in hospital. This is about you. You’re holding in all this anger and resentment and it’s making you into something you’re not.’
I sit up straighter. Where is this coming from?I open my mouth to tell him to mind his own business and then stop. I’ve run away from this conversation for too long now. He’s tried over and over to speak to me and I need to give him the chance to talk. Maybe if I can sit here quietly without getting angry – just let him make his dumb speech – we can get on with our trip in peace.
He continues quickly, sensing I want to stop him. ‘Becauseit’s obvious that your history with Mum is holding you back in so many different ways. Haven’t you thought about it? Don’t you think? You’ve got this shitty thing – this shittyrift– hanging over you all the time, never resolved, never settled. And it’s embedded into you like some broken piece of glass in your foot. You’re limping everywhere. Limping through your life, Al. You’ve let the painand the sadness become a part of your personality, a part of who you are, where they never used to be. You’re afraid of being abandoned, like you feel Mum did to you. It makes you push people away.’ He raises his voice for the first time. ‘Look at yourself, for fuck’s sake, Alice. You can’t even commit to a job! You’re so afraid of intimacy, you’ve been a temp for ten years!’
I am shockedinto silence for a moment, before letting out a short, sharp fake laugh. ‘No, Mark,’ I say, as lightly as I can. ‘I’ve been a temp for ten years because I don’t want to have any involvement in office birthdays. That is where I draw the line of decency.’ I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to argue, I need him to stop talking in this serious tone. He sighs, and continues: ‘Look, I just had a reallylong chat on the phone with Eva about this whole thing and ...’
What? This hits me like a slap in the face. He’s beengossipingaboutthis? With my best friend? The best friend I’m in ahalf-huff with? That is notOK, he knows that’s notOK. If I want to talk to Eva about my family stuff, I will. He hasn’t got the right to do it on my behalf! I am filled with fury at the two of them goingbehind my back like this, whispering about me, judging me.
‘You cannot be serious?’ My voice is louder than I expected. ‘You had no right, no right!’ I am suddenly furious with him and spitting my words. ‘Howdareyou, howdare you?’
‘Ali ...’ he starts.
‘Don’t you dare,’ I say, and I am really upset. ‘You had no right. This is such a betrayal, Mark.’
