Part I: The Cook’s Retaliation
Well, it did not take 18 days. Tonight's "drunken spaghetti" arrived with significantly more red chili than green basil. While the dish resembled a creamy bowl of Christmas, it was far from Jingle Bells in my mouth (more like Deck the Halls, as my internal dialogue screamed “Fa La La La La”). An imaginary meme of John McClane sarcastically muttering, “Yippee-Ki-Yay, Motherfucker” flashed through my mind, as I inamgined the smirk on the cook’s mouth in the kitchen, watching me wipe beads of sweat from my forehead. Maybe there’s more Christmas resemblance, after all.
I asked my usual server if they had prepared tonight’s dish with more authority by intention, and I was quickly reminded why this is the ‘Land of Smiles’ as she confirmed my suspicion. It was a potent, effective amount of capsaicin, and I can get used to it, though am not keen on them pushing the envelope much further.
My anecdote was a Young Coconut mochi plate I bought from 7-11. Once the flames subsided, I braved a midnight tropical downpour to walk to the lobby and erase my name from an early morning activity. Mod popped out of a tent in the reception area, revealing that it was after hours. Apparently, in addition to driving the hotel’s pickup and tending the organic garden, he serves as the night watchman several days a week. He is the ultimate utility player. As I turned to walk back to my room, I was loudly croaked at by three small frogs nestled in an elevated pot. Naturally, I had to photograph them.
I marched back to my stilted dwelling to retrieve my gear, knowing I had a dilemma in front of me: the area was poorly lit and completely exposed to the storm. As I fumbled in the dark with a tactical flashlight, an umbrella, and a heavy camera lens, Mod emerged from his tent once again to hold my umbrella and keep the hardware dry just for the shot. So here I am, adult male, mid thirties, graduate degree in healthcare, holding a flashlight in a dark, tropical deluge while the hotel's night watchman treated me like a high-maintenance influencer just so I could photograph a fucking agitated frog. In the absence of a local tipping culture, this man deserves a genuine token of my appreciation before I leave.
Part II: Something Out of Nothing at Salakpet Pier
I have started branching offsite for localized activities this week. Koh Chang is definitively not an epic, sweeping photography destination, forcing me to temper my expectations and embrace the landscape as an exercise in details, essentially creating something out of nothing.
I was entirely alone for the transit to the Salakpet Lighthouse and Pier, located a fifteen-minute drive from the resort. Mod allotted me a strict thirty-minute window to wander down the concrete pier, where over a dozen colorful fishing vessels were tied up at the end of the pier.
The Scene
- Local Commerce: One fisherman was harvesting from the edge of the pier using nothing but a raw hand net and a bucket
- Structural Decay: Multiple vessels sat askew, completely tired, worn, and half-submerged underwater with wild plants growing directly out of the decks.
- Environmental Disruption: Broken glass bottles, fractured wood, rusty anchors, missing slats, and tangled knots of heavy fishing rope were strewn about
The entire scene was best described as messy and chaotic, but a raw and authentic representation of the unpolished reality of life on Koh Chang. In a weird, metaphorically beautiful way, my analytical brain immediately gravitated to the parallels of its own landscape.
Creatively, it was an exceptionally difficult environment to capture, though I managed a few snapshots. I recognized several excellent candid human shots, but felt an uncomfortable hesitation about shoving a lens directly into the faces of the working locals, opting for the safer psychological choice of letting the images go. Nonetheless, I am quite pleased with the outcomes and confident the still life will still portray the scene accurately.
Part III: Financial Fixation and Noise Cancellation
The Daily Sequence
- 10:00 AM: Breakfast (kitchen closes at 10:30)
- 11:30 AM: 30-minute thermal herbal steam bath
- 12:00 PM: Saltwater pool rinse and flexibility routine
- 12:30 PM: 30-minute air-dry and decompression on a poolside lounge chair
Today’s practice was compromised, yet again, by human variables. Andina was so intensely chatty with the new German family inside the steam chamber that it necessitated the immediate deployment of my noise-canceling headphones (which I had intelligently brought, for this precise scenario).
I began a guided meditation on my Calm app, which successfully managed to keep my resting heart rate between 90-100 BPM despite the auditory intrusion. This was not before I overheard her question the German father regarding the rate they were paying for their family villa.
Ma'am, the exact prices are now posted publicly right at the front desk, directly next to the activity sign-up sheet you frequent daily. I simply cannot get past her psychological fixation on everyone’s financial data. Broadly speaking, I’m aware of Singapore’s traditional culture around financial prudence. This seems like an interesting opportunity to demonstrate curiosity, but my own biases and social understandings continue to drive an avoidance policy. Good thing I have time…
Part IV: The Existential Pivot
I had originally signed up for a 6:15 AM trail run with Yod, the hotel dog, mapping out a four-kilometer walk and jog combination structured by his owner, Gina. I ultimately canceled the workout because Kirstie reached out to report she had been running her own private yoga sessions in the open-air pavilion each morning, inviting me to join her and Ted, her newly arrived Australian friend.
Unfortunately, an existential crisis overrode the entire plan. My wandering mind refused to quiet down, keeping me wide awake until nearly 2:00 AM.
Intrusive thoughts of intense worry, returning anxiety, and deep discouragement of my current physical status (back pain and radiating symptoms are worsening, despite my concerted efforts and attempts to manage) set in. Moreover, I grappled with a deep-rooted fear of my poor sleep cycles and exhausting habits returning the exact second I resume my old life back home. I have never been an individual to shy away from brutal, hard work, but corporate life simply is not for me. And apparently, neither is the clinical life of a physical therapist. I’m at odds.
I tossed, turned, pouted, and sighed in the dark, trying to force my brain to calm down. The reality is simple: I thoroughly enjoy taking care of my own physical body, resuming my creative hobbies, and regaining genuine curiosity in foreign cultures and people. The agonizing jigsaw of this all is that I cannot figure out how to monetize that lifestyle to the degree required for long-term financial stability. Ugh.
I eventually fell asleep after my entire bottle of pillow mist fully leaked out onto my comforter (an expensive modality, for sure). My alarm was unkind to me, and choosing to prioritize sleep over movement, I skipped everything… entirely.
And thus, my burnout recovery reveals the troubling duality of the high-performer: I finally learn how to optimize my own physical and creative health, only to lay awake at 2:00 AM wondering how on earth to monetize my own sanity and overcome the setbacks of it all.
