We went to Melaka three times during this trip so far. The first two times, we both got violently ill.
Recently, I found this entry from one of those trips. I never posted it, and I can't remember why. I do remember how sick I was at the time. I've never really been sick like that, for as long as that. It was like three weeks of food poisoning. And day three or four was right around the low point, and that's when I wrote the following:
Last night I was lying in bed, wracked with literal jungle fever.
Towards what I thought was dawn, but was actually around midnight, my world started to disintegrate. I was a pool of sweat.
Draining. . . Draining. . . .
Absorbed.
Sucked into my mattress. My world became a spongy prison. Was I square? Was I fabric? Why could I not dry? Was I now water? Had I become my own sweat? Was my body even relevant anymore?
What happens if you've become your own sweat and you turn on the fan? Can you dry yourself out? Can you erase yourself? Gone into the vaporous M'sian night, to join the other spirits rising.. . .
A beacon. Something was shining to me. . . . Calling to me. . .
More water. . .
A brother in the night. A like-minded soul.
That silly voice from Sesame Street boomed out from the bedstand:
"Con den sa tion."
I looked.
Condensation.
There it was. My water bottle.
My life vest for the evening. My small mountain biking water bottle. Filled before bed.
It called to me again:
"Condensation."