I’m in Bali again. I love this place. I love the heat that envelops me as soon as I leave the miraculous tube of steel that gets me here. Right now, I am sitting by the pool, tiny birds are doing tiny bird things on the roof, making sweet sounds that undoubtedly have far greater meaning than we humans attribute to it. Motor scooters are wizzing along the narrow lane in front of the hotel. It’s a new hotel in an old area which means I get my fix of ‘old’ Bali with an air conditioned room and a very comfy bed.

View from my balcony

Getting here was easy despite the very early start. (Did you know there is a 3:30 am?) Light traffic, short queues, the only downer was the fellow passenger in front who didn’t stop talking for the entire 6 hour flight. Anyone who knows me will know that’s karma for all the times I have blethered non-stop.

My life is busy but I’d be lying if I said it was hard in any way. I’ve had my roller coasters but right now life is smooth sailing. Is that stupidly tempting fate?

I love traveling but because I don’t have any real worries, I worry about dying. Plane crash, hijack, floating in the open sea and having to use the useless little whistle on the life jacket. I know that’s probably statistically stupid as well as all the other kinds of stupid available to humans but I worry that something horrible and unexpected will interrupt my easy life. It’s happened before but I realised it’s something I’ve always feared.

This isn’t my first memory but it’s a strong one. I can remember lying in my white Queen Anne style bed, my sister across the room snoring peacefully. It was the night before I started year 3, so I was 7 and a half. My new school dress was hanging on the wardrobe door. ‘What if I die before I get to be in year 3?’ I thought.

Did I have my first (?) existential crisis at 7 1/2. As it turned out I broke my arm in year 3 and I had a terrible teacher called Mrs Bognuda. She was probably a very good teacher but she was no Mrs Keane, my loving, sweet teacher the year before.

I think I learned to ride a bike that year and discovered the joy of LEGO. But why wasn’t I just enjoying the freedom of being a child? Why was I so weighed down by the fear of death? It was early FOMO. Maybe I was remembering past deaths because if we’ve had past lives we’ve had as many deaths. No wonder we’re all so fucked up.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Bookshelf

Explores the world through literature, movies, words, and quotes for the intellectually curious

Read Eat Sleep Repeat

A book review blog.

Marlena Marie

words come alive the moment you let them exist

Gershon Ben-Avraham

Writing is Remembering

NO LOVE LOCKS™

Free Your Love. Save Our Bridges.

half a purpose

Genuine Humble Kind

Wanderlusty Writer

I read. I write. I wander.

Travel with Intent

A photographer's view of the world - words and images to inspire your travels and your dreams

Spice and Sauce

Writing Kindle Erotica

Feather Pens, Tartan Dreams

Adventures of a self-published author.

What Was Left In

-- Contents copyright (c) 2019 Rembert N Parker, all rights reserved Get my books here: https://www.amazon.com/Rembert-N-Parker/e/B071Z4GXNT

Michael Cristiano

Writer, Fitzgerald Fanboy, Real Life Hobbit.

chrismcmullen

Writing, Publishing, and Marketing Ideas

Aaron Caycedo-Kimura

Painter, Poet, & Cartoonist

The Darkroom

Gary Allard's photography exposed

Debatably Dateable

But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for

Greater Than the Sum

Andrew's take on the world

Aidan J. Reid

Sci-Fi Nut First. Thriller Author Second.

%d bloggers like this: