World Mental Health Day 2016

I am thoroughly under prepared for World Mental Health Day this year (I blame working full time and trying to be an adult). So instead of writing a thoughtful and informative piece on mental health, I have a short piece of writing from a while ago. Be warned, it's not cheery. It's about my experience from being in hospital following an attempt to take my own life last summer. I'm posting it because, to me, it actually rather perfectly captures the confusion and intense fear that consumed me. If you fancy a more informative post, check out my post on Anorexia Nervosa which I wrote a couple years ago: http://abinichollsruns.blogspot.co.uk/2015/02/anorexia-nervosa-my-story.html

I guess what I want to say with this post, is that mental illness can be terrifying for those going through it. I had a good experience in hospital, with exceptionally caring nurses who made all the difference. But the fear was so real and so intense. It is a time of my life I would rather forget, but at the same time I think it's important to use the experience to spread awareness and understanding. Things are so different for me now. I am well, and happy and a functioning member of society. 

I shall end the ramble here and just leave you with this piece of writing. If you are struggling with mental illness yourself and need someone to talk to, I recommend giving Samaritans a call on 116 123. If you want to learn more about mental illness, drop me a message and let me know, and I will try and answer any questions. Also let me know any topics you would like me to cover in future blog posts. Love to all, have a good week guys!

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At 6.30am, the lights of the hospital ward flicker on. They don’t wake me up; I’ve been awake all night. Between the visits from the doctors and psychiatrist at 3am and the half hourly blood pressure checks I’ve not had a minute of sleep. The ward begins to stir around me. Curtains between beds are fully opened. A nurse offers me some supplies for a wash. I decline. I am not entirely sure where I am. Or how I got here. The past few hours have been a complete blur of tests, and repeating the same information over and over again to different healthcare professionals. Each time, my story getting more muddled, more confused and less detailed. I lay in bed completely still even though I’m desperate for the toilet. I know my legs won’t actually carry me there. And I honestly don’t care if I wet myself. I don’t care about anything.

My stomach hurts, a deep aching pain unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I feel so nauseous that even if I had the motivation to move, I know I wouldn’t be able to. My head throbs. I feel dizzy. I don’t understand how I got here. I don’t remember what I did. I don’t want to remember.

Nurses offer me a cup of tea, which I accept but which goes cold beside me. I can’t even face taking on any liquid. My stomach wants nothing in it. I am offered food. I refuse it all. Even when I am asked by a nurse if she can make me a sandwich so that I eat something. I shake my head and close my eyes again, lying sweaty and exhausted in my bed.

Eventually I ask a nurse to take me to the toilet. She brings a wheelchair over to assist me and I struggle to get out of bed into it. I am so aware of how bad I smell. My entire body is shaking uncontrollably.

When I lay back in bed, still, my legs twitch every few seconds. I would cry, but I don’t have the energy to. I have nothing left. I am at the end. I did not expect to wake up this morning. But I did.

As life on the ward starts up for the day, I wait until a doctor comes to see me to ask where I am. I know what hospital I am in, but that’s all. I ask for my ward and bed number and visiting hour details so that I can at least have my own pajamas brought to me. I’ve spent the night in a hospital gown following an ECG earlier in the night. Every time I move in bed, I find another tab on my body left over from the ECG. My heart was fine. My blood work was fine. My blood pressure was becoming fine. My life was no longer in danger. Not physically anyway.

I see the girl in the bed next to me. She looks young, and hasn’t emerged from her cucoon of sheets all morning. When she does, I see her face properly. I see her arms, her scars. I look at her and I know. She is here for the same reason as me. She is at the end.

I am told I could be here for days until they can find me a more permanent bed. I am told that could be anywhere in the country. And that is all I am told. I have never been so scared in my entire life.

The day I almost died

Tuesday 19^th July 2016

This is the hardest thing I will ever write. Even now, as I write this, I have no idea if I will ever publish it. Maybe I will, but there’s a huge chance that I won’t. It’s still too hard to talk about, to admit to. But it’s important that I at least document the occasion.

One year ago, to the day, I was hospitalised following an attempt to take my life. It was following months of declining mental health, with depression gradually increasing in severity and anxiety taking over my life. I had memory problems for months; I would go to boil the kettle and find I had already done it. Sometimes I would find that I suddenly did not recognise where I was, despite being in a very familiar place. I became convinced that someone was following me everywhere wanting to hurt me. I had hallucinations of this “man” moving about behind me, even when my back was to a wall. My psychiatrist knew about all of this, my best friend made sure of that when he accompanied me on all of my appointments. But there didn’t seem to be anything anyone could do.

Eventually, on 19^th July 2015, I broke completely. I didn’t plan it before then, but after weeks of contemplating suicide every day I finally decided there was nothing left for me in life. I’m not going to go into detail on how I tried it, why it failed or how I ended up in hospital. All I’ll say is that it failed, and hospital was my destination. I finally started to get the help I so desperately needed. The weeks and months following the attempt are actually rather blurry, as I attempted to piece my life back together. I had to learn to want to live again. To see a reason to wake up every morning. Friends and family were incredible, and there is no way I would still be here without them. The support and love I received came in many forms. From hugs and cups of tea, to meals being put in front of me and my kitchen cleaned. From multiple late night movies, and drinks at the pub to holding my hand as I cried. It made the difference between me living and dying.

It’s incredibly surreal, that today it has been an entire year. I feel like a completely different person. It really is strange just how much can change in a year. Since 2016 began, I’ve finally felt like I’m piecing together a good life for myself. It’s not been all smooth running. I found myself with nowhere to live for a couple of months (thanks to Jo for taking me in!), and had to cope with the death of my wonderful Great Grandad. But, I have achieved so much. I finally became a homeowner, and the surrogate mother to my two beautiful cats. I am returning home to full time employment. I have had the privilege to watch several close friends get their degrees, even though I watched from the other side of the world. I feel closer than ever to my family and my friends. Today, I feel so very lucky. I have so many things that other do not.

This trip has really been the turning point. I have done so many things that terrify me. New people and new places that would once have left me crippled with panic, are now just part of every day. I have accomplished things that I never thought I would. I have checked things off my bucket list. I have learnt to adapt to change and embrace the unknown. I have finally felt peace and joy and contentment. I have experienced what it’s like to have a clear mind. I have felt pure freedom.

It has not all been easy. Of course, like anything in life, travel has its ups and downs and it has obstacles to overcome. But I’m proud of myself for how I have dealt with them. Yes, I have cried. I have missed home. I have felt pain. But that’s ok. That’s what makes us human. Nobody can feel happy all the time. But this time last year I genuinely felt like I would never feel even a spark of happiness again. It’s been a bloody long hard road, and at times I have felt so alone despite always having support on hand. It’s been a year of countless doctors and psychiatrists and nurses and counselling. But for the first time, I actually think I’ll be ok. I’ve had depression for years and years, and I probably will for the rest of my life. Maybe I will always have to take medication. Maybe not. But it’s ok. I feel like things will be ok. And I’ve never felt that way before.

I guess the reason I’m writing this is to prove that things can get better. Obviously my situation and my problems are unique to me, and everyone else has their own situations and problems that are unique to them. But I’ve come from the darkest point in my life to the brightest. So I guess it’s possible for anyone. If I’ve learnt anything from this trip, it’s this: life isn’t about the destination, it’s about the journey. If you concentrate on the end game, you miss the ride. The bumps in the road will happen, but they are all part of it. This thing we call life is messy, and it’s hard, and at times the path is dark. But even the longest night ends, and the sun rises. The journey is what it’s all about. The people you meet and the things you see along the way are what it’s all about. And I feel so grateful for all those people. Both the ones who have stuck around for years, and those who I was destined to only cross paths with once.

I hope this time next year I will still be thankful to be alive. I hope for a year filled with my favourite things. Cups of tea and cake with friends. Staying at the pub until closing after too many glasses of wine. Laying under the stars. Long runs in the countryside. Lazy Sunday mornings with bacon sandwiches and cat cuddles. Weekend trips to visit friends across the country. Family dinners. Quality time with my brothers. Movie nights. Hours curled up with a good book. Hot bubble baths. Painting my nails in the pub. Sharing communion at church. Celebrations of all sorts. I know it won’t always be a smooth road. But I actually feel pretty good about this next year. There is a whole world still to see, and I’m not checking out until I have seen it all.

The harsher side to travel

13^th July

The past week has been pretty tough. I left Malaysia feeling rejuvenated and ready for the next stage of my travel. I had two nights stopover in Kuta, Bali and to be honest, I wasn’t taken with it at all. As I walked down the streets (in very conservative clothing, I add), every group of local men I walked past cat-called me. Nothing nasty, just stuff like “Hello, pretty lady”, but it was enough to make me feel vulnerable for the first time since I left home. Kuta itself was full of Western chain shops, tourists and one very crowded beach. I ended up finding a hotel on the beach and paying to use their pool because there really wasn’t anything else to do. I ate at the Hard Rock Café that night, purely to feel safe and comfortable. I sat up at the bar and chatted to bartenders over cocktails and felt much better. But it felt like a wasted couple of days, in a place that I really had no interest in.

When I arrived on Lombok island I fell instantly in love with it. It’s a small island; you can drive from North to South on the rather rocky, potholed filled roads in around three hours. The sense of community was strong, with large families still celebrating Eid in full swing. My homestay was lovely, and in the middle of nowhere. So far, so good. The real problems hit when I decided to climb Mount Rinjani.

Mount Rinjani is Indonesia’s second tallest volcano, and towers over the island at over 12,000ft above sea level. I had read it would be a hard climb, but I’m fairly fit and was up for the challenge. To be honest, it still feels like the biggest mistake I have made. The danger and exhaustion were so real, and the views could not make up for it. The hike up to the Crater Rim (sitting at almost 9000ft) was ten hours (I had been led to believe it was a lot less than this). The final five hours were the worst. I was struggling to put one foot in front of the other. Parts of it were so steep that you had to use your hands to pull yourself over the rocks. As the sun set, it dawned on me that I was going to still be climbing in the dark and suddenly I was terrified. The group I had set off with were all way ahead, and I had only locals for company. It was one of those locals who took me under his wing and encouraged me for the final hour with words of comfort. “It’s ok,” he would say “you can do it”. Stumbling over loose rocks and volcanic ash, clutching my torch in one hard and using my free hand to pull myself over the bigger rocks, I did not believe him one bit. But his help and his words were constant. As tears streamed down my face, he kept me calm. It had rained earlier in the day, so my damp clothes were causing me to shiver in the low temperatures (less than 10 degrees centigrade). I had to stop after every step, my thighs and calves burning and threatening to give up. I had no choice but to go onwards and upwards, to yet colder and thinner air. When I finally saw the glowing lights of camp, and fumbled over the last rock I burst into tears and ran into the arms of a girl named Nihad from my trek group, who had only been a little in front of me and had waited for me.

There were hundreds of people in camp, and it took all my concentration not to trip over various tent pegs on the search for my tent. Nihad and I found our tent and crawled into it, huddling inside in an attempt to find warmth. I immediately changed into dry clothes, snuggled into my sleeping bag and lay down. Every inch of my body hurt. I like to physically challenge myself, but this was on a whole other level. The porters appeared at our tent flap with food, but I was far too exhausted to eat a single bite. Nihad forced a few cookies down me, and we bonded over our pain. We had arrived in the dark so didn’t even have a good view to reward ourselves with. I was asleep by 7.30pm. The tent was on hard rocky ground and on a slope, but I was too tired to care. People were due to get up at 2am to climb another three hours to the summit, but I knew my body could not do it. And by the end of the next day, I was so thankful that I didn’t attempt it.

The next morning I sat around camp for several hours, awaiting the return of those who had gone to the summit. Every person returned with the same conclusion: “It was so cold”. The views around me were spectacular, but in all honesty I just wanted to get off that mountain. My legs felt like jelly, and I was fed up of constantly being on a slope. The original plan was to spend that second day climbing the 600m down to the crater lake, swimming in it for a while before ascending the 600m the other side. I decided to skip this day (as did others in my group), eager to be back on level ground and safety. It was another good decision. The climb down the mountain was just as hard. The first few hours were worse going down than they had been coming up. Every step was on loose rocks and I was slipping all over the place. At one point, somebody dropped a bag of rubbish (accidently or on purpose I don’t know) and I watched it soar past me, gaining momentum and tumbling down the mountain before hitting a large rock and splitting open, contents spilling everywhere. A horrible thought popped into my mind. What if that happens to me? I have seriously never been so scared, and tears welled up in my eyes again. I only got down those first few hours because of the help of one of our porters. He was wearing flip flops, and carrying a long stick on his shoulders, with baskets at each end filled with food, water and supplies. And he held my hand for a good two hours, helping me over every obstacle and stopping me from falling every time I slipped. Further down the mountain, we ran out of water. The porter who had been with me had none left, and neither did I. The other porters were further down. I went an hour without water, dehydration slowly setting in. At one point I near collapsed. I sat down at the side of the path, feeling completely defeated and unable to think of anything except water. A couple of walkers went by and saw my empty water bottle. They filled it part way with some of their own water and I gratefully drank every drop. Able to walk again, I found my way to the lunch stop.

By now it was 4pm; I downed a load of water immediately, wolfed down the noodles and embraced the break. But we still had a couple hours ahead of us. The final part of the walk was easier, but in my state every step was still a challenge. We decided that running down the hill would be easier and gave it a go. And it actually was. Despite my aching muscles I started running, and actually enjoyed the freedom. I was running down a volcano, over every obstacle, almost free running. And we ran for an hour. It felt good. That despite everything that had happened, and despite my broken body, I could still run. Until I couldn’t. I hit the wall, and was unable to go any further. From that point I hobbled. Clutching my water bottle in my hand I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. At 6pm, I finally reached the end of the trail. Covered in dirt, it took me several attempts to climb into the back of the open truck ready to go back to my homestay.

The owner of my homestay had to help me up the two steps to my room, my legs were broken. I showered slowly, scrubbing the mud and ash and dirt off my legs, my face, my hair. I collapsed on the bed, my legs stiff and no longer functioning as legs. By 7.30pm I was asleep.

If I’m honest, I do still regret doing that climb. I mean, it’s pretty cool to be able to say that I’ve climbed an active volcano. But the risks involved were just not worth it. I hope that one day I’ll be able to look back and remember the view and smile. That the pain will become a funny anecdote. But right now, I’m just happy to be safe.

30 Hours in Luxury

Tuesday 5^th July 2016

After successfully negotiating the exceptionally confusing Colombo airport (which included three separate sets of security), I found my way onto the more than half empty plane to Kuala Lumpur. As it was a three hour overnight flight (with a +2.5 hour time difference on arrival) I was thrilled to find I had three seats to lay down over for the duration of the journey. I got no sleep, but at least felt rested when we landed at the painfully early time of 4.30am.

On arrival at KL airport I found myself the best coffee I’ve ever tasted. It was very strong, and made with a little condensed milk, reminding me of all the delicious coffees I consumed in Vietnam six years ago. In my sleep deprived state I found the taxi counter, purchased a ticket and found the taxi to take me into the city. The hour drive to the hotel was mesmerising. The buildings everywhere were so damn tall and beautifully lit up in an array of lights. I remember being in New York a few years ago and being completely unable to comprehend the height of the skyscrapers. This was a similar feeling, made all the more awe inspiring by the thousands of lights against the dark night’s sky. I arrived at my hotel at 6.30am where I was told my room would be available at 11am and I could relax by the infinity pool until then. Despite my complete lack of sleep, I was wide awake and so full of energy from the excitement of it all. I sat and watched the sunrise over KL with only a very lovely security man for company. It was a very relaxing morning and that child-like sense of wonder had deeply set in. I couldn’t help but think of my baby cousin Reece at Christmas. At 17 months old, he’d just learnt the word “wow” and everything he saw and every present he opened received an enthusiastic “wow” as if he really was that excited about everything. That was exactly how I felt right then. Like a child seeing something for the first time.

I’ve stayed in posh hotels in Europe as a teenager. The only perk of my dad working away from home were the Hilton points he collected meaning free/cheap stays with executive room upgrades in  Hilton hotels across the continent. But I’ve never stayed in a nice hotel that I’ve paid for myself. And this hotel was incredibly posh. My room was huge and complete with sofa, dining table and small kitchen. I felt like a mini celebrity throughout my stay, with staff being so helpful with everything. I thoroughly enjoyed my hot power shower followed by snuggling up in a fluffy white dressing gown and lying across my soft and squishy king sized bed. I felt so grown up yet also an imposter in the adult world at the same time. It was the kind of hotel that would easily charge over £200 a night back home; where businessmen would stay after important meetings, or rich families would take their holidays. Yet I had paid a mere £40 (admittedly four months ago) and that included breakfast. I simply couldn’t believe my luck.

I was instantly taken with KL when I went out to explore the city. It was an incredible mix of East meets West, with roadside stands selling local Malaysian food next to a large shopping mall containing a H&M that became a slight lifesaver (I needed new sunglasses, I broke mine because I’m clumsy…). Everything in that city was huge. Each building towered so far above me. It should have been intimidating, but it wasn’t. I actually felt remarkably at home. It had enough familiarities of the West along with all the charm of the East. The Petronas Twin Towers were the highlight by far. Towering above all the other buildings, you could not miss them. I had another “wow” moment as I stood at the base of one of the towers and looked up. I could not see the top. It seemed to go on forever, disappearing far into the clouds. I spent quite a while walking around the towers, examining them from every angle including from a small distance. They were truly a remarkable piece of architecture. I’m not usually a fan of buildings, preferring natural wonders over man made. But this really was spectacular.

I left KL with great sadness; thirty hours was not enough time to witness all the city had to offer. But I felt so well rested and ready to face Indonesia.

Why I’m in love with Sri Lanka

Friday marked the end of my wonderful five week placement in Sri Lanka. I left my last project with an overwhelming mix of feelings; sadness at leaving such amazing kids behind, pride at what I have achieved, relief that I would finally get a rest and excitement at my adventures to come. What I have found hardest these past few days is the knowledge that things will never be the same again. The evenings spent with roommates chasing bugs out of the room, the stressful Monday morning project planning, the journeys on crowded buses to get to projects, the weekends spent admiring breath-taking views and the meals shared with people from all over the world. Even if we managed to all meet-up and be together again, nothing will actually be the same. And nobody will understand what we all went through, not really, not unless they were there. They may understand what it’s like to cope with the suffocating humidity and heat, with very questionable fashion choices made with only practicality and decency in mind. Maybe they would understand the beauty witnessed every time the sun set in the sky. They may even understand the frustration felt after an unsuccessful project, a mixture of deflation that hard work had not paid off with determination to do better next time. But they will never understand what it was like to be there at that moment in time with that particular group of people. I hope my memory can do these experiences justice. I hope in the future I can recall how I felt sat on a beach seeing Mars in the sky for the very first time. Or how beautiful an Asian elephant is when it’s only 5 feet away. I hope I remember every time a kid smiled at me, reassuring me that the work I was doing was worthwhile. Most of all, I hope I always remember how free I felt when I danced. Whether it was at a bar with my friends or at a project with people who don’t speak my language. I never want to forget that feeling.

Over the past five weeks, Sri Lanka has completely captured my heart. I have witnessed beauty that I didn’t even know existed in the world, and I am totally smitten. So here are seven reasons that I am in love with Sri Lanka.

7. The views

Before I came to Sri Lanka, I had never heard about the views that I would witness. As an island nation, it boasts the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen. With pure white sand, and the clearest of waters, the beaches look like your typical tropical island that I honestly believed only existed in pictures. The sunset over the sea is truly spectacular with the sun so big in the sky, reflecting its light over the ocean and creating temporary, yet extraordinary views. Views over the mountains left me completely speechless; with greenery extended as far as the eye could see. Every day in Sri Lanka I saw something beautiful.

6. Being barefoot

I have always hated wearing shoes. I remember being told off by my dad as a child for always going into the garden or across the road to neighbours houses without shoes on. I take my shoes off at work back home, and walk around in my socks or in slippers. Shoes just feel too restrictive to me. I have spent the majority of my time barefoot here, whether it was on a beach, at a project, or even walking through the street to a temple. I love the feel of the ground beneath my feet, it feels so natural to me.

5. The food

Rice and curry will never be as good as it is in Sri Lanka. The mixture of spices and flavours are perfectly moulded together into a plate of deliciousness that you scoop up with your hands and into your mouth. Most curries I have eaten have been vegetable based, often with vegetables I have never heard of. At my homestay, I always looked forward to dinner, to see what was in store for us that night. Everything is so full of flavour. My tolerance for spicy food has gone through the roof, to the point that today I sat and sweated whilst eating my lunch from the spice, and the burning around my lips afterwards serving as a reminder of the amazing food I had just consumed. Coconuts are found everywhere, and are served whole, with the top cut off and a straw placed inside to allow you to soak up the wonderfully refreshing water within. Rotti and paratas have been my favourite lunchtime foods, a mixture of dough and spiced vegetables serving as a perfect recharge in the middle of the day. The bananas are exceptionally sweet, rambutan are available to buy at any roadside, and pineapples were served up having just been picked from outside the house. The array of colours and vibrant flavours in all the food is something that I have enjoyed thoroughly, and will miss dearly.

4. The wildlife

On a walk home from projects one day I was followed home by around ten monkeys, all running along telephone wires and throwing themselves from tree to tree. Whilst mildly terrifying, it was also rather wonderful. Dogs and cats are everywhere, and I have had the privilege to cuddle a few adorable puppies with their owners blessing. Chipmunks scurry around just like squirrels do back home, but are cheekier and smaller. The dragonflies and butterflies that inhabit the air around you are the most colourful I’ve ever seen, a mixture of bright blues and greens swirled into stunning patterns. The fireflies come out at night, looking like Christmas lights dancing around providing light in the darkness. Cows roam the streets, often walking down the middle of the road with the traffic barely noticing the minor detour it has to take around the animals. Wild elephants can be spotted at night, if you are in the right place at the right time. Geckos frequently visit bedrooms at night, climbing up walls and hurrying out of sight. The wildlife has made this trip truly special, and has constantly amazed me.

3. Positivity

I would consider myself a fairly positive person; I prefer to see the good in a situation than the bad, and believe the best in people. Sri Lankans are the most positive people I have met. So many times I have had one say to me “why are you worried?” with an explanation that worrying won’t actually help or change anything. They are the friendliest bunch of people, always saying hello when passing you on the street, and holding your bag on the bus when it’s too busy for you to sit down. Everyone helps everyone out. I have witnessed such kindness in people every single day, which is refreshing to see. The positive atmosphere rubs off on you, making you feel much more chilled out and relaxed. Sri Lankan Time is a side effect of this laid back attitude. Any time you are given to meet somewhere, add fifteen minutes and it will be the actual time you will be met. I took this all in my stride. Children everywhere would say hello and smile at me wherever I went. At the end of a teaching project, the students would shake your hand and say “thank you, teacher”. Other people would ask where you were going and help you to get there. You could turn up at a bus station with no idea how to get to your destination, simply say the name of it and it would be worked out for you and the correct bus or buses pointed out. It’s so different from the usual head down and walk through Birmingham city ignoring everyone. I really will miss it.

2. Simplicity

The lack of internet, television and computers has forced a simpler lifestyle upon me. The hours spent watching Netflix have turned into hours available for reading. I have finished 8 books in 5 weeks. I don’t think I have read 8 books in the last year. I have missed the joy of losing myself in a good book, of immersing myself completely in another world hungrily seeking answers to questions brought up and being thrilled at every plot twist and turn. Other free time has been spent in the company of people from all over the world, sharing stories from our lives and laughing until our bellies hurt. The lack of hot water hasn’t bothered me. Sharing one bathroom between four people was surprisingly easy. I found that the simplicity of living helped me to feel less stressed, moulding me into a far more chilled out person.

1. The people

People can make or break a trip like this, and I have been so lucky to work and live with some of the best. For most of my trip my roommates consisted of an Italian, an American, a Glaswegian and myself (sounds like the start of a bad joke, I know). We found common ground in our love of computer games and science fiction and in my three roommates’ fear of spiders, cockroaches and other bugs that I found myself ridding our bedroom of most nights, whilst they stood by squealing. The four of us became rather proficient at catching and squishing mosquitos (sadly, usually after they had sucked the blood out of one of us), and bonded over shared Nutella at breakfast time. Nobody blinked an eyelid when walking into a room to find roommates in various stages of undress due to the stifling heat. Nobody spoke to each other first thing in the morning, with a mutual understanding that doing so could result in losing a limb. We talked and cheered each other up after bad days. Insults and banter flowed freely, as if we had all known each other for years rather than weeks. But when you’re thrown into a situation where you both live and work with people, friendships that would usually take months to build up are created in a day. Choruses of “it’s too hot” became part of the bonding experience. When someone was ill, they were looked after. It was like we formed our own little family, one in which I looked forward to coming home to every evening. Emma, Aishani and Alice, if you are reading this, thank you for being the best roommates I could have hoped for. I will treasure every memory forever, and consider myself lucky to have had the privilege of getting to know you all.

The six other people on my intake became another great circle of friends. I remember the first time I met everyone, in the minibus on the way to orientation. Jen had arrived in the early hours of the morning, and was excessively hyper due to sleep deprivation. Brandon turned up an hour or so into orientation having only just landed in the country. Chris was suffering from sickness, and I think the rest of us were rather out of it due to jetlag. Yet here we were, all sat around a table with no idea what the next five weeks were going to hold. We clicked instantly. Jungle weekend helped to consolidate our friendships over too much alcohol, games of never have I ever and dancing in the rain. Over the weeks we worked together at various projects and spent weekends exploring Sri Lanka with other volunteers. We witnessed beauty so pure it made us cry. We experienced frustrating long, hot and crowded bus journeys together. We had rough days together. We supported each other and built each other up. I think we made a damn good team, and I am so proud of every single person. So a shout out to Jen, Hannah, Fliss, Karen, Chris and Brandon, my Horana/Bandaragama  30^th May intake crew. I think we did pretty good. I wish for good things for all of you, and hope the future brings what you desire.

To anybody I met whilst in Sri Lanka, thank you for being awesome. Whether we stay in touch and see each other when possible, or whether life takes us in separate directions, I will always treasure the memories we shared. The good and the bad. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.