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My mother, stepfather and half-sister delivered me to the airport for the one way flight to Bangkok and none of them believed in the seriousness of my journey. They all wanted to be there to witness my body leaving beyond the talk, but they all deep down thought I was insane. There was a populous Muslim family amongst us in the waiting area before the tram to the terminal, likely going on the same flight to my layover in Amman, Jordan. It all felt surreal, going to the forbidden zone of the middle east first before my lone dream destination of Thailand for what imaginary god knows how long. In the bar of the terminal, I met an officer in the Navy who bought me a drink and told me how him and his buddies had gone to Pattaya in Thailand and he “unleashed his demons”. With his smile and chuckle, I couldn’t help but imagine the reality of those details and feel absolutely disgusted with chills and sympathy for the mysterious land of Thailand before arrival. I boarded the plane and as we flew up and above the stormy clouds festering over Tampa, I couldn’t help but look down the whole time at my birthplace and marvel at it’s flatness, barely above sea level, destined to be submerged with the slightest degree of rising in our energetic heating of the world. It felt borderline orgasmic to fly away from this madness and the shrinking of all I had ever known and grown to hate. It was out of my realm of consideration to think I would return two and a half years later to Tampa with a refreshed perspective of creative potential, writing and directing a full feature film and starting a hardcore band. The first layover was in NYC, which I had never been to but rushed to the next plane on the Jordan Air flight. I was one of a few non-Arabic people on the massive plane, and the only one with a shaved head, Jew nose and Army Assault pack for a backpack. Countless cold and suspicious stares grilled me as my overstuffed bag and flip flops hanging off slapped shoulders down the aisle. Arriving in Amman airport terminal was strange. Part of me wanted to venture out during the 8 hours I was there, but the stares I continued to receive by the Arabic workers in the airport and the jovial approach of random US Jews and Israelis who assumed I was there for a pre-screening to go on pilgrimage to Israel made me think I would not make it back to the airport. I just wanted them to leave me alone but part of me also thought about going to Israel someday dressed as white Jesus, getting disgusted and protesting enough so they would make me a martyr again. Forget that though, humanity can be their own saviors, stop being babied and die for their own sins this time around. Now they have no excuses. I slept on the floor of the terminal out of fear of the middle east and woke up to the boarding of a flight to Yemen, with a line filled with women wearing Niqab, or the black full body covering only leaving their inquisitive yet totally restrained eyes scanning my foreign body. It was a strange moment and I wondered what it would be like if I just boarded this plane to Yemen and got killed on sight once I arrived and left the airport. My uncle Buddy had stated that I would arrive in Bangkok and get murdered by a ladyboy immediately as soon as I left the airport. I would rather wait a few hours longer for that depraved fate of hilarity. I heard later that Amman was relatively safe. On arrival in Bangkok, the first email I received was from my love, Jane, stating that she had become a nun on this same day that I had arrived in her country, shaving her head and leaving Bangkok for a life in a monastery of central Thailand. Untouchable and unable to help me transition into her country smoothly, I never felt so alone in the unknown.