The soles of my feet are basking in equatorial sunshine, which could either mean I’m in for one evil sunburn or that I know how to do it up right here in Fiji: feet up, book open, smile on my face.

When faced with the possibility of a very long and uncomfortable flight across the Pacific, knowing the ending destination makes the airplane food and screaming baby moments worth it. Right now, I hear far away music, vegetables being chopped and grass rustling from strolling dogs. The breeze is a whisper. I love Fiji.

Fijian Village

Chris and I only strolled into Nadi airport at 5:30 a.m. this morning and by lunchtime already found a great appreciation for the anti-time management lifestyle. There’s no sense at all that things need to be planned or scheduled today. All we know is that at some point, we’ll need to purchase a “sulu” (a traditional Fijian sarong for the village ceremonies).

As the day progressed, Chris found himself playing in many a soccer match, while I grew increasingly disoriented by jet lag. By the time dinner came around, I had completely forgotten where the volunteer house from that morning was. Luckily a little aimless wandering got me there, where I proceeded to fall asleep mouth open, limbs sprawling, every chance I could get.

After indulging in the house’s favorite meal by Mary, the in-house cook, of chicken curry and roti, it became evident I might die if convinced to go out. Lucky am I that there’s two of us and I left Chris to experience all the wonders and joys of Fijian nightlife, while I walked home in the black of night, weary of the coconut trees above my head. This moment made me feel ballsy again, other-worldly, like I was back again to my life of challenges and excitement.