It's not that I'm not into you, but I have some place else to be. And other profound statements.

It’s the kind of carnival scene I used to have nightmares about as a kid. The air’s so thick with humidity and smoke that I can hardly breathe. Lights of every colour flash wildly around me and at quickly increasing speeds. The noise makes my head spin. Russian women are shouting about cheap vodka buckets, while Thai boys shout about Ping-Pong shows. A tuk-tuk advertising Muay Thai is driving by chanting its hypnotic mantra of ‘tomorrow night, tomorrow night,’ over and over. Music thumps out from every bar and sunburnt tourists are laughing at drugged-up monkeys dressed in tutus, or cheering at strippers dancing on tables. The scent of sweat, beer, sewerage and cigarettes wraps around me like an unwelcome hug. Then an over-enthusiastic pamphlet waving Lady Boy accidently smacks me in the face and I decide I've had enough of this.
I dart ninja-like through the crowds, away from Bangla Road and down on to the beach. I can still hear the noise and see the lights, but I feel a whole lot calmer sitting down here. The weight of my reason for travelling to Thailand is beginning to sink in. I’m not sure why I thought I’d find any answers here. Maybe I've come to the wrong place?
I am staring out across the ocean, trying my hardest to ignore the woman doing topless yoga nearby, when I see three burning specks of light rising up from the beach and drifting across the sky. I stand up and walk toward where the lanterns are coming from, leaving the topless woman to her downward facing dog.
The boy selling the lanterns is named Arun. He is smoking a cigarette. I light one up myself. The night is hot and we are both wearing black shorts and white singlets. The only difference between us is that he is smiling and I am not.
“Why you so sad?”
I’m not sure how to tell him, so I don’t say anything at all.
“Here, light a lantern and let it go. Then, no more worries,” he hands me a lantern and shows me how to light it.
I can’t hear the carnival at this end of the beach, just the ocean. My face has stopped hurting from where I got hit. The air smells of salt and our cigarettes. The only light comes from a string of fairy lights in the trees behind us and the lantern in my hand.
The lantern fills with hot air and drifts up toward the stars. As I watch it float away, I say a silent pray. Some of the weight is lifted from my shoulders. Some of the grief is released from my chest.
I smile.
Arun laughs.
“See?” he says, “No worries!”
I think I've come to right place.