Laying in bed, mosquito-bitten, sweating a lake, scrolling through Instagram on a barely functional Wi-Fi signal, I told myself I don't want to stay here longer than I need to.
I came to Koh Tao for a month, at most, to help my brother Curtis with his project, but not to linger.
Discomfort sets in
The next morning, after a questionable amount of sleep, I took the first of many cold showers among geckos and spiders.
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 if I could keep down more than a banana.
Saying yes by default
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.
I resisted at first, but reminded myself of a principle I'd agreed to: say yes to experiences, not no. So I did: volleyball, yoga, construction, repairs, jungle, smoothies, games, movies, diving.
None of it was what I expected. Maybe that's why I enjoyed it so much.
From stopover to home
After the first month, I was satisfied I had been at least somewhat helpful, but I was eager to move on.
I traveled elsewhere for a month, but something tugged at me. Koh Tao was calling me back. I told myself it would only be two weeks. Those two weeks became three months.
This time, I leaned in. My days filled with people, with experiences, with diving. I became a divemaster, double boating most days, occasionally even triple.
Somewhere in the rhythm of it, the island stopped being temporary and started feeling more like home. I saw familiar faces, had routines, and was working on something meaningful.
The mission wasn't the mission
What I thought was my purpose—helping Curtis—wasn't the real mission at all. I was there to discover more about myself, connect with people, and to open up diving as a whole new way of exploring the world.
I felt a new wholeness from it all.
Leaving Koh Tao this time felt like leaving a piece of myself behind, the same ache I remembered from saying goodbye to a partner years earlier before moving away for college. And I believe I was meant to feel that.
When I leaned in, everything changed
Koh Tao asked me to stay—and to return—when I only wanted to leave. By saying yes, I discovered connection, purpose, and a piece of myself I didn't know I was missing.
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 return.
