Here we go again.
Trip Start Sep 28, 2011
333Trip End Ongoing
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So I spend the day in hiding; reminiscent of all of those times in high school where I sat in the shadows at a party I was lucky enough to get invited to. Or made sure my face was always covered by my hands. Or ensured when talking to anyone else I was looking in the other direction. It feels like I'm being rude. I'm abrupt and curt with everyone who tries to engage me in conversation. I just want to stick a bag over my head and die.
Bocas Del Toro. Just another beach town. Only the amount of stunningly gorgeous people seems to have doubled since my last foray into surf world. I've made a promise to myself that this is the last time. I'm going out of my way to make sure that when I spot a surf board, I'm going the opposite way. As my friend said, there are plenty more attractive people girls out there that don't come to these places. That hate them in fact. More to the point, there is a world to be explored, where there is more to this planet than beaches. I hate beaches. Why do I constantly find myself near one?
I've been researching laser skin surgery for the past two hours, buying a bottle of water, some zit cream and two bananas in the interim. I'm convincing myself that 2000ml of aqua and the afterthought of some fruit will solve all my problems. Not sure about the cream; it's all in Spanish. I might not have a face at all by tomorrow.
I've been plagued by acne for as long as I can remember. Even after taking some serious drugs for it (Roaccutaine) it still haunts me to this day. It looks like I have acne when I don't, and when I do, well, I just wish the earth would swallow me up. Some people might baulk at the melodrama, but until you have suffered from this for as long as I have, or anyone else who bears it, pipe down and let me vent.
I was a late developer through my high school years, which often left me in tears of confusion. How was it possible that the kid who was bullied with alarming regularity, could also be really small, have bad acne, no hair anywhere, and his voice not break until later than everyone else? Why couldn't the bullies have those impairments? I remember vividly those moments in the changing rooms after P.E, trying to hide myself from piss taking eyes, all proudly displaying how many pubes they had grown in recent weeks and speaking an octave lower. To this day I still feel an injustice that I'm not well built, tanned, with perfect skin and well developed, consistent designer facial hair. I was just a wee, pale, bald choir boy. I got paid for it though. The choir boy part.
On the bus to Puerto Viejo I was sat next to the jolly green giant. He wasn't green and he wasn't very jolly to speak of, but he was enormous. To be honest it's not a good analogy at all but you'll get the idea. I sat intently looking at his left thigh. Not like that. Then I shifted my gaze to my counterpart. And back again. This I did for a fair few miles. I could have put both my thighs together as a uni-thigh and still come up short. These are not the kind of places you go to if you're suffering from low self esteem.
So it's time to leave it all behind. When I get out of here, I'm going to try and get off the gringo trail. I'm going to disappear into the wilderness. I'm going to find myself, and hopefully discover, with a little bit of luck, that as small as I am in stature, I'm pretty big when it comes to my heart.
And just maybe; someone out there is into that.