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17 years old. Bali, Indonesia, 10pm local time. I sit on the cold tile floor of an airbnb, my luggage unpacked and sprawled across the bed next to me. I've wedged myself into the corner of the room, hugging my knees. All is quiet. The world outside of this room ceases to be, and I am alone. The faint smell of airplane lingers on my clothing after the 17-hour flight. I blink, staring at this new and unfamiliar location. Picking up my phone to call my mother, my hands are pale and clammy. I tell her that I want to come home, mum, and that I'm scared, mum, and I miss you. This room smells like tropical decay. You're so far away mum and I don't know why I'm here. What am I doing? And she laughs and says that it's all just character building and that the black mold in my room won't harm me. She once had a cockroach infestation in Thailand. I love you. See you soon. The next morning I head out towards the dock, still trembling. The over-packed bag on my back seems like the lightest weight I'm carrying on my shoulders. I climb in a taxi, wary of strange men and looks from locals. Upon arrival at the harbor I purchase a boat ticket to Nusa Penida, that will be 500,000 rupiah please; in my hazy and jet-lagged state I'd forgotten my ticket had already been reserved before I left home. I might as well have flushed 500,000rp down the squat toilet. No refund, Miss. Your fault. Mortified, self-conscious teenager slumps through Sanur Harbour, batting off mosquitoes and local salespeople alike. But isn't she so grateful to be here in Bali, Island of the Gods? I walk down to the beach, waiting for my boat to arrive. Looking out towards the ocean, suddenly the sun doesn't seem so oppressive. And I smile to myself and take out my travel journal. I write and feel the soft sand burn the soles of my feet; immersing myself in this story, this moment right now, I feel less alone. As I spill my anecdotes and reservations onto the pages, I know my future self is with me the whole time, reading the words and reminiscing. I know I'm sharing these stories with friends, family, people I've yet to meet. I make a friend on the boat towards the island. We're both here for the same volunteering program, staying for two weeks. She got here last night too. And we hurtle towards the island, plummeting towards the unknown. Who knows what this trip will have in store for us? But that island is ours and we are here, now. And that is good enough.