Muna and I were heading back to Antigua so we could proudly brag to our friends that we had recently survived a near fatal digestive disaster.
In Antigua, I celebrated my new found freedom from intestinal incontinence by going on a photo field trip with Basia.
Stop. Don't let this cute Polish girl trick you. She is an enabler. She took clear advantage of the fact that recently I hadn't consumed anything but methane in the past four days. She knew very well what she was doing when she paid for that first gateway dose of double dipped ice cream.
At first, our photo field trips were personally enriching. We were present, engaged and aware of the photo aesthetics of our surrounding.
But slowly the, oh so tasty (focus!), ice cream was taking over our photos, our choices and ultimately our lives.
It became less about being creative and more about avoiding reality while hiding behind the false security and cheap thrill of ice cream. Before we knew it, everything revolved around the ice cream. It controlled us. We couldn't do anything without including ice cream. What started as an innocent treat became way out of control and now had become an insatiable need.
We had to free ourselves from the triggers. We had to rediscover our connections with people and our real surroundings. We had absolutely no choice but to leave Antigua and head to the Guatemalan beach coast to break this destructive cycle.
"I'll be back for work on Monday, right?" confirmed Basia.
"Totally. Two days--tops." I over confidently assured.