Greetings from Guam.
Having just been kicked out of the office (I am forced out when store closes - mostly because I'd shit myself being alone in a warehouse that holds a lot of dark corners and flying cockroaches), I was on a hunt for a coffee shop with wifi to continue working when I came across a little detour on the island.
I followed a red tram full of Japanese tourists that turned into a small road marked "Two Lovers Point", which sounded more exciting than the continued course of the highway. And I just realized I've never really gone around to explore.
There's a little elevated outcrop where they charge $3 for an unempeded view of Tumon Bay, and the vastness of the Pacific. Of course I didn't pay and went to a side section instead, where I found myself staring into the massive blue. The wind was blowing steadily from behind me as I leaned on the railing. I tried to look where the beach was below, but there was nothing to be seen except for several hundred feet of nothing and the gaping wide blue ocean below.
It's a comforting and familiar experience. I remembered with arresting clarity all the moments that I found myself staring at the massiveness of the ocean from up high. The bunker in San Francisco. Batanes. And how relieving it felt to feel so small and irrelevant.
I love how the grandness of the world easily opens itself up to those willing to stop, look, and listen. And how it guides you away from the comfort of your own mortality and the immediacy of your problems and your needs. All become inconsequential, and special at the same time.
That we are both nothing, and the entire universe, all at once.
