Day 59: A Sealed Bottle of Water
I’m so tired. It’s the end of a long day—three yoga classes, lunch with a friend, and dinner with another.
I came home exhausted, hoping to fall asleep right away at 9 p.m., but sleep hasn’t come. Lately, the nights have felt heavy. I find myself afraid of the dark in a way I haven’t been before, but I know this feeling will pass with time. Eventually, I gave up on sleep and decided to write instead.
One moment from today stands out—a small moment, but significant.
This afternoon, I was sitting in a café in Uluwatu before my yoga class when I ordered a bottle of water. It must be the first time I’ve done that since I was drugged and raped with one.
When the server placed it on the table, it was sealed.
I can never open these bottles myself; I’ve always found it difficult for some reason. Usually, it frustrates me when servers in Bali leave the bottles unopened, forcing me to wave them over again about 30 seconds later for help opening the bottle.
But today, as I sat there, it dawned on me. They do this so that you know—so that you can trust—that what’s inside hasn’t been tampered with.
I called the waiter over, and as he twisted the cap open, my eyes filled with tears. It hit me, in that moment, how much it will mean to me for the rest of my life to see every single bottle of water opened in front of me.
I wonder if he noticed. If he wondered why I was crying over something so small.
I simply said, thank you.