The soles of my feet are basking in equatorial sunshine, which could either mean I'm in for one evil sunburn or that I know how to do it up right here in Fiji: feet up, book open, smile on my face. When you're faced with the possibility of a very long and uncomfortable flight across the Pacific, know that the ending destination is highly worth all the airplane food and screaming baby frustration. Right now, I hear far off music, vegetables being chopped, and grass rustling from strolling dogs. The breeze is a whisper. I love Fiji.

Chris and I only strolled into Nadi airport at 5:30am this morning and by lunchtime already found a great appreciation for the anti-time efficient lifestyle. There's not a sense at all that things need to be planned or scheduled today. All we know is that at some point, we'll need to purchase a sulu (a traditional Fijian sarong for the village ceremonies).

As the day progressed, Chris found himself a players in many a soccer match, while I grew increasingly disoriented by jetlag. By the time dinner came around, I had completely forgotten where the volunteer house from that morning was. Luckily a little aimless wandering got me there, where I proceeded to fall asleep, mouth open, limbs sprawling in every direction around me, before nighttime descended.

After indulging in the house's favorite meal by Mary, the in-house cook, of chicken curry and roti, it became evident to me that I might die if convinced to go out. I left Chris to experience all the wonders and joys of Fijian nightlife, while I walked home in the black of night, weary of the coconut trees above my head. This moment made me feel ballsy again, other-worldly, like I was back again to my life of challenges and excitement.