My first night on the island was a trial of sweat, itching skin, and Wi-Fi that felt more like a coin toss than a connection. “I don’t want to stay here longer than I need to,” I thought.
I came to Koh Tao for a month, at most, to help my brother Curtis with his project, but not to linger.
Trial by elements
By morning my limbs felt like weights. The cold water hit like ice, and geckos scattered as I reached for the soap.
It took me more than a week to adjust to the heat (and the cold) and to figure out the right dose of electrolytes to stop feeling ill. For days, I was stuck in bed with little energy, proud to just keep down a banana.
Saying yes
Even flat on my back, opportunities kept appearing. Not just to do activities, but to be with people. Curtis, his friends, and others in the community.
Excuses lined up in my head. I shrugged them off, and somehow ended up hauling boards, chasing volleyballs, sipping smoothies, bending for yoga, and becoming a diver.
None of it was what I expected. Maybe that's why I enjoyed it so much.
When stopover became home
After the first month, I was satisfied I had been at least somewhat helpful, but I was eager to move on.
I told myself I’d moved on while traveling elsewhere for a month, but I’d left something unfinished on the island. I swore I’d only return for two more weeks. Three months later, I was still there.
This time, I leaned in. My days filled with people, with experiences, with diving. I became a divemaster, double boating most days, occasionally triple.
Somewhere between game nights and morning boats, the island became comfortable. Faces grew familiar, routines set in, and belonging crept up quietly. I don't know the exact moment it stopped feeling like a stopover. I just know it did.
The real mission
I wasn't there for the reason I thought. Helping Curtis was meaningful, but that was just the pretense I needed to uncover new ways to connect with people and explore the world.
I noticed it in the small moments: shoulders loosening under the cold shower, salt and sand clinging like skin, sleep arriving without a fight. The island had changed me, but not for the reason I thought.
As the boat pulled away from the dock, I watched it all through blurred eyes: friends, boats, the center—all shrinking into the horizon. I held a smile, eyes glassy with the ache of leaving.
When I leaned in, everything changed
Koh Tao asked me to stay when I only wanted to leave. It challenged me, and I accepted. By saying yes, I found connections, purpose, and parts of myself I hadn't met before.
I came to Koh Tao certain I wouldn't stay long. I left knowing it had given me more than I could have imagined, and that I'd be back.
