Excited from the bus trip that despite the tossing and turning made me feel very confident and excited… I alighted from the bus looking forward to a brilliant stay in Goa. The musty salty air, the humid heat, the haggling vendors all moulded into the susegado attitude of the people here, is something that’s cheered me up always. So in the true spirit of goa, I bargained with a cab driver, who was bustling with energy and goanism, for an affordable rate and set forth towards the place I’d fixed on.
Given his friendly demeanor and attitude, I kept my baggage in the back seat and sat in the front with him. We chatted about goa, Kerala, traveling, culture, family, relationships… it was interesting enough for me to let my guard down.
But that’s when I’ve always gotten into trouble right? I don’t know when I’ll learn. I’ve had these guards up for a reason. I don’t trust people for a reason. Why then do I again naively believe that people will think of my friendliness as just my friendliness? Not as in invite. Not as a sign of me being an easy lay.
Conversationally he offered me a cigarette which I accepted. During the drive he casually started mentioning having friendship without strings attached, nude beaches, sex… but then would quickly cover it up with talk about his wife or kids. Being overtly cautious I presumed I was reading too much into his words. This trip was to teach me to break my habits. So I let them slide. He then abruptly kept his hand on my lap and suggested that if we were friends then I wouldn’t have to worry about money.
I was so taken aback that I didn’t react. Didn’t tell him to take his fucking hand along with his fucking attitude and go die. Didn’t tell him that it took me all my strength to start trusting in life and that his one action has pushed me back tremendously. That he just concreted my belief that either all people are bad or then I’ve had to wonderful misfortune to meet only bad people. That in my eyes there is no difference other than the level of desperation between him and the guy who sold me. That he just made me want to save myself from this world that much sooner. That my silence isn’t consensus but my shock and disgust at myself.
I kept quiet. He did it again and I kept quiet. I prayed that I reach my destination safely but I honestly wouldn’t have cared even if I was raped. It would have been no different than that touch. In fact the fear of getting killed in the process might have actually made me enjoy it quite a bit.
When I got off the cab I shook his hand to thank him and he tightened his grip ever so lightly and looked at me with such lust that I died from within. I still did nothing.
I can’t help but wonder what I’m doing in Goa. There is nothing I can do here that I can’t back home. I came here to break my pattern. To start living. To be. And yet… I did nothing!
I want to go home. I want to cuddle with my parents. I want to die.