Thunderstorms in North Sumatra

I have always raved about how much I love thunderstorms. Up until today. I’ve always loved thunderstorms in a controlled setting. Knowing exactly where the flashlights are, the candles, the ability to use my phone light to find them if I didn’t remember exactly where they were. I loved the way the thunderstorms got my heart racing, with the loud booms and the darting streaks of light across the sky. The way the whole house shakes. I craved the types of storms that make you feel like you need to say sorry, even though you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. They were my favorite. The louder and bigger the storm, the better it was. I longed for the wildest storm the sky could possibly generate.

All of this is accurate, until I was alone in my room in the jungle of North Sumatra. A loud burst of thunder scatters through the sky; the volume alone sounded like it could break a house down. Moments after, the lights are out. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say out loud to myself, with no emotion. I was more annoyed than anything. It was dark. The dark that stays the same when you open and close your eyes. I feel my way around my new room, in search of where I placed my laptop. I open it, feeling a sense of relief for a brief second. Dead. Full of hope, I scramble around the room searching for my phone, although I knew deep down there was no hope with that either. I am not entirely sure what happened to my phone, but long story short, it got fried in Nias. Something to do with the voltage, who knows. I knew there was absolutely zero source of light to be found in my room.

I stumble towards the door, feeling the sense of fear gradually creeping up on me. I keep reminding myself that it is just darkness, and I wasn’t a child who was afraid of the dark. I turn the key that was still lodged in the lock and unlock the door to peer outside. There was absolutely zero change in color from inside to outside. The outside scared me. I was in a room tucked away in the back far from all the other rooms, situated right next to this beautiful waterfall that I was so stoked about before nightfall and this terrifying storm. All I could hear was the waterfall gushing fierouscly towards my room. I hurry back inside, aware that the fear has hit me. And it has hit me hard.

I go straight for the bed, and crawl under the blanket. I lay there relying on the occasional strike of lightening to send any ounce of light through the tiny ceiling window. I try to convince myself that I am not scared. It is just a storm.

I think about how much fun I used to have growing up, whenever a storm would occur. We would get out candles and board games; we would play until the power came back on. It was always so much fun, and it felt so safe. I felt the complete opposite tonight. I squeeze my eyes shut so tight, hoping to create more darkness then was already there in hopes of convincing myself that I had some sort of control over something. The roars of the angry sky have pushed me into downright panic.

I instantly go over every bad possibility in my head. I have myself completely convinced that another flash flood will occur, similar to the one years ago that killed five tourists and devastated every property along the river that flowed through Bukit Lawang. If the flood didn’t take me, I knew that an anaconda would. Just last week, a man in Sumbawa( island located in Indonesia not too far from me,) was eaten alive by an anaconda in his garden. That was going to be me; I was going to be the next anaconda dinner.

I start praying out loud, my tone saturated in anger and determination. I am not even sure who or what I am praying to. Anything. Anyone. I just needed something to hear me and make me feel safe again. I was never too religious. “I am more spiritual,” I would reply when people asked. I read books on Buddhism for fun, and watch documentaries on Hinduism in my free time. I am infacuted and completely open to every religion, I can’t just pick one. My praying gets louder and is filled with more compassion behind my words. The disparity is ringing in my ears. Please would someone just listen to me, God damnit!?

I lay on my stomach, smothering my head into the pillow, trying to convince myself I was going to sleep. All I wanted was the warmth of someone elses’ body. I wanted someone to hold my hand and tell me it was okay and that I was safe. My body aches when I think of how badly I wish another soul was experiencing this with me. I think about my dog, and how I wouldn’t even be scared if he were lying next to me. What would he do if something were to happen to me during this storm?

I am holding my breath, being as still as can be. My fear had pushed me into complete stillness. I couldn’t tell if there was an earthquake or if my heart was just beating that hard. It was my heart. I could hear the muscles in my heart, pumping blood. Parts of my body were pulsing that I had no idea pulsed. If there was any light, I am sure you could see my heart beat in my fingertips. I felt it in the tips of my toes and behind my knees. My stomach was knotting and turning like snake wrapped up in himself. I had pushed myself into sheer terror.

What was I so afraid of? Of course I had come up with all of these nonsense outcomes, but I don’t think that was the origin of my genuine fear. I believe it stemmed from the fear of not being able to predict what could happen. It was a situation I was so unfamiliar with. The fear of the unknown. The possibilities were endless and they were flourishing in my head, one after another. I have never felt so alone. One of my senses had been stripped from me and there was nothing left beyond my four remaining senses, except my mind. My ever so powerful mind that had done nothing but create this chaos going in my head in the first place.

I tried to work up the courage to get out of bed to go find light or least another person. I knew that I would struggle when I got out of my room. It was so dark. Darker than any dark I was familiar with. There was no background light off in the distance, and there wasn’t the smallest sliver of light emitting from the moon or stars in the sky because of how deep beneath the jungle trees I was located. It was an empty dark. Empty, but with plenty of room for ridiculous scenarios that I had created out of discomfort.

All I wanted was to be at home, with my dog, and with what was familiar.  This was the most alone I had felt throughout my journey in the past two months, while traveling solo through Asia. Suddenly, I see a small phone light outside of my room. My body tenses up, thoughts of the worst continuously circling through my mind. Was someone going to come into my room?

I jump out of the bed and run towards the door, realizing this was my saving grace, not someone coming to hurt me. I make my way to the door, a little more comfortable with the lay out of the room in the dark. As I stare through the window next to the door, I notice the light getting further away. I am shaking under the pressure of turning the key to unlock the door; I can’t let my one chance of light walk away. I open the door, but the light is gone.

“Hello! Hello!” I scream in a state of torment, too afraid to wander past my door in the darkness of the jungle. The light was gone and I was alone in the emptiness, again. It was so relieving to see different shades of darkness, for that miniscule moment that the phone light was there. I set out to find light, putting all my fears aside. Courageously, I begin to walk in the direction of the path I vaguely remember walking down for the first time a few hours ago. The waterfall behind me sounded like it could plummet me at any moment. I turn around as if I would be able to see it coming. The very waterfall that brought me serenity earlier today is now only bringing me terror.

After about fifteen minutes of shuffling my feet (which turned into a hunch-backed, caveman-like walk/crawl,) I could see shadows of stairs. There was light in the distance, and I could see enough of it to make my way towards it. I stumble into the dimly-lit lobby of the inn, drenched and noticeably covered in a blanket of fright. Everyone is staring at me and the dried tears on my face, like I am some sort of creature that just walked out of the jungle to see civilization for the first time. I guess everyone had come out of their rooms, into the lobby, when the power first went out. Apparently, they had a generator to supply the lobby with enough power for one small light. But my room was the furthest away, with the longest walk through the darkness, by a long shot. There was absolutely zero sign of light where my room was located.

The owner, whom I had spoken to during check-in, rushes over to me aware of my discomfort. He gives me a half hug; which is rare in Indonesia, they aren’t big huggers. I instantly feel safe again. “Do you have a flashlight?” They were the only words that managed to fall out of my mouth, while everyone was still staring at me. He gave me a tall candlestick and advised me not to worry as we are in the jungle and thunderstorms like this are extremely common. All my anxiety and alarm within completely evaporated. Just like that, it was gone. I was surrounded by strangers, who felt like family. I knew everything was going to be okay. The warmth and presence alone of the other souls surrounding me reassured my comfort.

After some time, the power came back on and the storm let up. I am not entirely sure what I was so frightened of during that storm. It could have been the dismay for nature’s ability to form a natural disaster with me in the middle of it. Or it could have been the feeling of lonesome, knowing that if something tragic were to happen, I was completely on my own. I had been traveling for so long by myself, yet I was always surrounded. There was never a moment that I felt unsafe. It was my first day (more specifically, few hours) in the jungle and for the first time in months, I was going to sleep in a room alone. In the jungle, alone.

I think what terrified me the most was my loss of control. I have never been someone who needs to be in control, I am quite the opposite actually. I go with the flow and flip a coin when decisions get tricky. But in this moment, when my most appreciated sense had been taken from me, I yearned for control.

Nights like these are essential. These are the lessons that are far and few; you surely don’t learn them from the inside of a textbook. As much as I hated every single moment of this soul-strangling experience, I appreciate it. I was confronted with a fear that resided deep within me and was presented with a situation that was so alien to me. I had two options.

When shit gets sticky and doesn’t go as planned, you’ve always got two options. You overtake it or you let it overtake you. You hide your head in the pillow and pull the covers over your face, allowing the deepest, most daunting places of your mind to eat you alive. Or you build up the courage to walk out of that room, through the pitch-black, and you overcome the situation.