Birthday in Tonga

Land Ho! We arrived in Tonga the morning of June 4th - convenient for me since my birthday is June 5th! As I write this, it's still my birthday back home in Texas thanks to the weirdness that is crossing the International Date Line. I have yet to contact my family since getting on the ship (sorry, y'all), and because I couldn't help but think about being with them on my birthday, this one's for them.

We got time off the ship yesterday morning, and while multiple plans and ideas of where to go and what to do were circulating, I had set my mind on three things: the blowholes, the market, and ice cream. Somehow, I managed to get my wish, so first stop was blowholes. I wasn't entirely sure what that referred to or what I'd see when we actually got there, but I was not let down! It was a whole stretch of coastline where big waves would crash up against a cliff-like ledge and water would be pushed through holes in the rock and shot way up into the air. The bigger the wave, the bigger the spray! The most magical part was that in all the misty spray left in the air, you could see rainbows. All in all it was a very majestic spot, and I was glad to have gone.

Next stop was the craft market. There were beautiful handmade necklaces, earrings, bags, cloth, figurines, and so much more. I stopped at one woman's stall, and she explained to me all the different materials used for each piece. Some were mother-of-pearl, some were conch shell, some were black stone, and I found it impressive that she could make beautifully carved pieces in every one of them. Right next to the market was an ice cream shop with some of the largest single scoops I've ever seen. Most of us got a big ole scoop in a waffle cone, and I gotta say, there really is something so nice about eating an ice cream cone on a hot day. By then it was about time to get back to the ship, but I'd had a great few hours.

As appreciative as I am for having the privilege to spend my 21st birthday in Tonga, though, I have been thinking of home. There have been many moments this whole trips where I take a second to zoom out, and I have a feeling of being so distinctly far from home. Not even really in a bad way at all, but in a way that urges me to treasure all these moments. My distance-from-home measure has been to imagine taking my mom from our favorite cozy chairs in our living room (the epitome of my comfort zone if there ever was one) and plopping her down wherever I am in that moment.
However much she'd be freaking out is how far I am from home - both physically and figuratively. I think I've been associating the word home less with places and more with feelings these days. Home, to me, is where I feel at ease. Most times it's at the house where I've grown up in Houston, but sometimes it's at Stanford getting lunch with my friends. Or maybe it's trying not to fall asleep in the Hopkins library. Or maybe, just maybe, it's laying in my bunk on the Robert C. Seamans, looking out my porthole, thinking about the incredible, weird, exhausting, exciting day I've just had and how amazing, fascinating, and beautiful the next is bound to be.

With love,
Casey Mullins