It’s 15 past noon in the beautiful oriental city of Phuket. The Eastern sun is shining, the markets and bazaars and alive with the call of “250 baht! 150 baht!”, the whir of makeshift fans, and stray dogs and cats weaving between the legs of hopeful shoppers bartering the vendors’ prices down. Most Australian tourists are amongst those shoppers, or lounging by the pool, or walking the dusty streets towards Starbucks, because the numerous open air restaurants of authentic Thai cuisine pales in comparison the the call of trademark Western caffeine. Meanwhile, I am lying in the fetal position in the hotel room, fighting off the urge to punch someone while ignoring the horrible itching of a skin irritation caused by public life jackets on the other day’s tour. My boyfriend lies next to me, hunched into a ball around his upset stomach from eating a roadside cartels. Neither of us speaks for fear of cursing each other out rather than our respective illnesses.
Holidays, am I right?
i want boys to like me so i can not like them back and feel powerful