12/01/2025
Journal Entry 1 : Thailand
MY MESSY FIRST TRIP AROUND THE WORLD🌏
I did it — I actually got on a plane for the first time in my life, and of course nothing about it was simple or gentle. I started this journey squeezed into a middle seat between two men: one heavy and spilling into my space, the other large but kind, doing what he could to give me a little room in the cramped reality of economy seating. I kept thinking, yep, this is exactly what being a broke bitch feels like, but weirdly enough, I felt proud. I was doing it. I was really doing it.
The two-hour flight to Chicago tested me immediately — wind issues, storms, circling the runway before landing. By the time we touched down, my nerves felt like they were made of glass. And then I boarded the long-haul beast: Chicago to Hong Kong. A huge plane, a packed cabin, and a level of fear I could feel in my teeth. But the universe threw me a small mercy — a seat in the very back next to a genuinely awesome guy. We talked throughout the flight, which kept me grounded. And being near the bathroom meant I could stand and stretch without being in anyone’s way. Sixteen hours is a long time to stay scared, so I let myself drift into sleep when it finally came.
Hong Kong was a rush — barely off one plane before being shepherded to the next. And then… Thailand. Midnight. Everything closed. Me, exhausted to the bone, overpaying for a taxi because I just needed to lay down. My room was gorgeous — a quiet little sanctuary for the next two days before my Muay Thai hotel. I was excited. Ready. Proud of myself.
And then jet lag and my own carelessness ambushed me. I took off my glasses — mistake number one — and tripped hard in the bathroom. I went down with full force, landing on my right arm, my dominant arm. I hit the floor and stayed there for at least twenty minutes — stunned, hurting, terrified to even try to move. When I finally did, my arm wouldn’t respond. That’s when the panic hit. I sat on the bed and cried, not just from the pain, but from the “I can’t believe this is happening” shock of it all.
I somehow made it downstairs and tried to explain what happened. The language barrier made everything ten times scarier. They called an ambulance, and suddenly I was living one of my biggest fears: hurt, alone, misunderstood, and completely dependent on strangers in a country where nothing felt familiar.
The night felt endless — X-rays, waiting rooms, and a knot of fear that wouldn’t loosen. But then relief: not broken. Just badly injured. They put my arm in a sling, handed me paperwork, and sent me back into the early morning darkness. I found my way back to the hotel exhausted, grateful, and honestly shocked that the entire ordeal cost me only $89.
The next morning, reality hit me. My whole itinerary was gone. All the plans I’d been excited about? Done. I sat there asking myself the big question: Do I give up and go home to heal? Try again another time? Or figure out a way to keep going with one good arm and a lot of determination?
I chose to keep going.
Breakfast felt like a reset button. I had no idea where to start or what I even wanted anymore. Exploring was tricky — some temples and even some beaches restrict tattoos, which I hadn’t fully considered. My arm was useless, my body was sore, and my plans were wrecked… but I refused to quit. I stayed in Bangkok another week, slow and steady, checking out different spots, eating amazing food, and even treating myself to a dinner cruise. Floating along the river under city lights felt like redemption — a reminder that joy can still find you, even when nothing goes according to plan.
But after the nightlife, the food, the chaos, and the healing… I was ready for beach time. Ready for quiet. Ready to rest. And that’s where I’ll leave this entry — on the edge of a new chapter, bruised but unbroken, still choosing adventure over defeat.
