I awoke on my 30th birthday hot and uncomfortably damp with sweat. Brushing the mosquito net aside from my bed, I scratched furiously, noting it had once again failed in its role to keep me off the night-time menu of the perpetually hungry insects. I sought out the welcome relief of the shower.
This was a simple, gravity-fed hose with shower attachment, pegged to the outside wall by the water barrel. There was plenty of water, even now in the dry season it rained often and heavily, so I knew I could stand under it for quite a while without worrying about draining it. It was heavenly, cool and refreshing. However, only moments later I was peeling a t-shirt over my head and wriggling awkwardly into a pair of shorts, my clothes sticking to me as the humidity closed in and laid down fresh layers of uncomfortable, warm moisture on my skin.
If the day was to remain at all bearable, I was going to have to ensure activity of minimal effort; it was my birthday after all. My whole year away was centred around this one, pivotal day, so I wanted to make sure that whatever I did, it would have some significance. Some time in the future I would look back and remember this day like I remembered no other birthday, and not because I was uncomfortably hot and sweaty. This day would epitomise the metamorphosis from whatever it was I had tried to be to whatever it was I would one day become.
I decided to take the small fishing canoe on a short trip around the four small islands just off the shore, where I expected the breeze to be cool. They were only a few hundred yards away and I’d swum to the nearest one a few times already just to savour the view. You could look back to the forested mountains of East New Britain from the near side of the tiny islet, and from the other the open Pacific stretched seemingly forever until it merged with the sky.
I’d swum over in the dark once and was amazed at the purple phosphorescence exploding from every stroke. I swam a slow breaststroke, watching with each sweep of my arms the tiny purple lights sparkle and splash. This time, however, I canoed in daylight around the tiny dot of an island to the other side and pulled my boat up onto the beach there. I dived deep into the Pacific Ocean as the early morning sun rose sharply and fiercely, goggles and snorkel at the ready.
I’ve since been to the Great Barrier Reef, but it pales into insignificance when compared to the beauty of the reef created by this little string of four islands, forming a slight arc just off the shore of Palmalmal in East New Britain. I guess it’s because no one goes there, leaving it as perfect and untouched as when first created. The locals themselves pay it little attention, more interested in the larger, consumable fish swimming further out from the coast.
I’d never seen such variety. Diving down just a few feet, swimming through huge shoals, I was totally immersed in colour. I could watch until my back burned raw in the sun but realising such a burning was inevitable if I didn’t stop, I retrieved my canoe and slowly paddled along the length of the next island. Multi-coloured parrots, and a few frigate birds flew lazily overhead. The mainland was now hidden from me and I truly felt I was the only person in the world.
I stopped at the next island, the smallest of them. It was still large enough to host a few trees, so I thought I’d rest for lunch and find some shade there. I sat beneath a pawpaw tree, the fruit hanging on it as ripe as it could be. I reached out and a single pawpaw came away in my hands. In the heat of the tropical midday sun just the thought of such a treat made my mouth water. I cut into its flesh and tasted nectar, its soft fruit quenching my thirst in an instant and I laughed out loud in sheer joy. 30 years later I would have an allotment and sing merrily about the beauty of homegrown strawberries over bland supermarket efforts. But I can tell you for certain, that no matter the praise I ever give to a juicy, ripe strawberry or plump, bright red tomato that I’ve grown myself, I will never again taste such joy as I tasted from that pawpaw, sitting on that tiny island somewhere a few degrees south of the equator at the edge of the world.
Circumnavigating the final island, I headed back towards the village. I looked up at the darkening sky, wondering what was coming while I contemplated my journey. I had thrown away my job, my entire career, my house, my girlfriend, my life, people had said. As the air cooled and the first drops of rain fell, I was now more certain than ever that this was not true. I had simply left these things behind, as logically and inevitably as I had now left my 20s behind in a smooth progression of development. It was time to move forward, as impossible to go back to any of it as it was to be a teenager again or to reattach a pawpaw to its branch.
I was happy with my memories, and, as the heavens opened and the best birthday present ever fell in buckets, soaking me to the skin leaving me cool for the first time in days, I was able to relax at last. I had made all the right decisions, I realised, and even if I didn’t know for sure what was coming next, or what, exactly, I was going to do with my life, my 30s were already awesome!