They continue to look at me blankly, but for some reason I keep going.
‘Piss? You know, like wee? Urine? Whizz? Pee? Spending a penny? Isn’t it funny how there are so many English words for having a wee? We’re clearlyobsessed!’
They are showing no signs of life, but I’m still talking: ‘Tinkle? Going number one? Taking a leak? Or,’ – I stop to laugh – ‘as my super posh friend Eva says, “visiting the lavatory” ... ’ I break off, suddenly really, urgently missing Eva.
We’ve barely spoken in the last couple of weeks. I’ve been avoiding her because I don’t want to tell her what happened with Mark. Ididn’t want her to give me a pep talk and try to make me feel better about my shitty life. Not when everything is so great for her at the moment. But I feel a bit guilty suddenly, thinking about the messages she’s sent that I’ve hardly replied to, and the Skype calls I’ve ignored. We haven’t actually spoken on the phone or Skype since I was inLA. Which is unheard of for us.
Right. That’sdecided. I will call or Skype her as soon as we get off this bus – the airport will have WiFi, surely.
I’m flying up to north Thailand today. I’ve been here longer than I thought – snorkelling, swimming and wandering around talking to people. I’ve realised I really like human contact. All this talk about needing to be alone to truly ‘find yourself’ is kind of nonsense. Or at least, it doesn’treally apply to me. I am a sociable, gregarious person – I get lonely! I’m allowed to say that, right? Because it feels a bit taboo sometimes. Butshock-horror; humans like being around other humans at times. It’s what Clara was saying on the phone – there are eight billion people out there, surely some of them are going through the same things as me. Surely some of them are looking for connections.Anyway, I feel stronger. I’ve spent time on my own and I’ve spent time with other people. Both have been good, both have been necessary.
And sure, yes, I miss Mark and Joe. I am worried about how I left things with my brother. I am scared we won’t be able to work it out and I’ll have lost yet another important person in my life. I am frightened. But I am also an excellent compartmentaliser.I have put our fight into a box and I am mostly ignoring it right now. Because what else can I do.
Plus, adventures do actually come easier when your dumb big brother isn’tmicro-managing your experience over your shoulder.
So now I’m adding another week to my Thai adventure so I can go up north to meet myAyahuasca-Garfield buddy, Clara. She was so wise and soothing on the phone,I’m hoping she can help me figure out what I’m doing next. I don’t know why I keep putting off the decision.
Actually, I do know why. I think that’s obvious.
It’s because of course I do know where I’m going next. But I’m not quite ready yet. I need more time. I need more time to think.
The French tourists are still staring at me blankly, so I give them a thumbs up and turn backtowards the bus driver, Terry, who is laughing at me in the mirror. He’s Scottish and I sat up the front so we could chat. He’s brill, I really like him. I swear to God, he is a character ripped straight out ofLast of the Summer Wine. Those old dudes were all so sassy.
Terry has been telling me all about his lovely family. He has a son ‘about my age’ who he wants to set me up with, and I’vealready given him my email address andAWOLhandle because why not, eh. Maybe his son is hot.
‘Are we nearly there yet, Terry?’ I say, grinning at him in the mirror. He laughs at me again.
‘You’re a very impatient young lady, aren’t you, Alice?’ he says like every dad, ever.
‘I am just excited to get to where I’m going,’ I say and he shrugs.
‘You need to learn how to enjoy thejourney,’ he replies, kindly. ‘Stop always chasing what’s next and embrace the now. That’s what I tell my boys, and I’ll tell you the same. Slow down and look around you, or you’ll end up going round in circles. There are many ways of going forward, but only one way of standing still.’
‘Ooh, Terry, that’s dead wise,’ I say, in awe.
‘It’s a Franklin Roosevelt quote,’ he says, indicatingand checking his blind spot. ‘You have to be responsible for making your own life worth living, and choosing to be happy. There’s no point waiting around for someone else to solve life for you and deliver happiness to your front door. You’ve got to live, not just exist.’
I am quiet, thinking about his words.
‘Terry, I think you might be a genius,’ I say at last.
‘That’s what they tellme,’ he replies conversationally.
We pull up a few minutes later, and I grab my bag from the overhead compartment. It is so much lighter and I swing it onto my back with ease. It makes me laugh thinking what a literal weight it is off my shoulders.
I realised, when I was packing up, that I am an idiot. I’ve been carrying around so much unnecessary stuff since I got here. I had awholemake-up bag I’ve toted around Thailand for no reason. I haven’t actually worn mascara since I leftLA, never mind foundation, cover up,BBcream, powder, et al.
Obviously I am hideous, but who cares, really? You spend a few days wearing your patchy, discoloured, pale skin out in the world, and you get used to it. You realise nobody is really interested.
I also had an array of clothesand shoes I would never wear out here, because – shocking revelation coming up – Thailand is not a very ‘stiletto’ place.
I know, what a surprise.
And I had so many stupid pointless items I’dpanic-packed at the start of this trip. It seems completely laughable now. Afirst-aid kit? Hair straighteners?? And I really don’t know when I would ever really need Sellotape while travelling.
Anyway I packed it all up separately in a suitcase and had it sent back to my old flat – Eva and Jeremy’s place.
I’m down to the basics now – a fewt-shirts, some shorts and skirts, a couple of pairs offlip-flops – and it is so freeing. I actually feel really wonderful.
