The Woman On The Bus
On fate, love, destiny, and what it really means to find your soulmate
“Last night was a remarkable night. Outside the bus station in Bangkok, I met a girl from Turkey. She’s a 26 year-old teacher and musician who lives now in Thailand, and was on her way to Koh Phangan to relax for 10 days. She talked a lot, about a lot of different things, and at first I was skeptical, wondering if I shouldn’t have talked to her in the first place. But, as we sat together on the bus, our bodies touching gently under our warm blankets, my mind began to change.”
10/13/22
I’d been in Bangkok for only about five days—still a complete, clueless backpacking novice—when I decided it was time to go south, down toward to the islands of Thailand. Don’t get me wrong, Bangkok has its charms—but when you Google “Thailand,” or when you purchase the Lonely Planet guidebook, you’re confronted mostly with pictures of white sand beaches and ocean water so blue you assume the photos must be edited. So naturally, I wanted to see what that was all about.
I purchased a ticket on an overnight bus down to Surat Thani, and around 7:00 p.m., took a tuk-tuk to the bus station. It didn’t look anything like a traditional bus station, though—it was basically just another door in a long, conjoined strip of business buildings, with a very small sign over the entrance. The crowd of other Western folk wearing backpacks was the only thing that really assured me I was in the right place at all.
After checking in and confirming my ticket, I headed back outside to wait. It was a hot, sticky night (which isn’t really all that notable if you’re familiar with Bangkok), and I distinctly remember the orangey streetlights that illuminated everything in a warm glow. I put my backpack down to the relief of my shoulders, and happened to look back toward the door just as a girl was coming out—so I saw her before she saw me. In that brief snapshot in time, she was just another random traveler, and I had not the slightest idea of just how much she would change things for me.
She was of average height, with dark brown hair and a beautiful, elegant face. She looked up as she walked out of the station, saw me, and immediately said hello—I’m not exactly sure why she chose me, though I won’t pretend I haven’t flattered myself with theories.
I don’t remember too much about our interactions on the street, so I won’t make something up just for the sake of it. I am sure we went through the typical list of backpacker questions, which occur so regularly and consistently they may as well be numbered:
What’s your name?
Where are you from?
How long have you been traveling for?
I won’t reveal her name, but I learned she was from Turkey and that she lived permanently in Thailand. She was on the way south on my same bus to the island region for a 10-day vacation. I was heading to the island of Koh Samui, and she to the neighboring island of Koh Phangan.
Eventually, the bus rolled in. We walked on, and I remember her saying, “Do you want to sit together?” I, of course, said yes. We wedged our bags into the overhead spaces, and I took a final trip to the on-bus toilet (which, if I remember correctly, smelled such that it would ruin the mood of this story if I elaborated on it).
The bus was pumping with AC and the seats were close together, and so I remember that as we sat down and covered ourselves with the complementary blankets, her leg and shoulder pressed up against mine, warming me. I think that was when I first started to feel a special sort of connection to her—and not merely a physical one, but something much deeper, borne of her extraordinary openness and sincerity, of which I was about to learn.
As the night wore on and the explicitly Thai mix of dark green foliage and mangled telephone cables flew by outside, we got to know one another.
“We talked about everything from food, to pets, to movies, to religion and spiritual experiences. She even teared up a few times, telling me about how she feels unloved, abandoned, and sometimes just very, very sad. I went from being skeptical, to finding myself caught in a strange mix of pitying her, loving her, and being genuinely fascinated by her.”
10/13/22
There were a few moments in the middle of the night where I would wake up from a short doze, and genuinely struggle to remember where I was. I would feel her warm body next to mine, behold her sleeping face, feel the rhythm of the bus beneath me as the driver plowed on through the night, and I would just empty my mind of thoughts, taking in only the present moment and trying as best as I could to cement everything into memory.
I think it was the twofold potion of falling asleep beside her and listening to her speak for hours with a depth usually reserved for close friends, that, by the next morning, had me feeling like I knew her deeply. And even as I write this now, I wonder if that was merely a feeling, or if it was actually true. Do you always need more than one night to get to know a person in all their fullness?
We said goodbye on the street outside with galling brevity. She boarded a taxi, while I sat and waited for mine.
“Now I’m on the ferry heading to Koh Samui, and she’s gone, on the way to Koh Phangan. I feel a deep emptiness now that I’m alone—I don’t know if it was as much her specifically as it was just the long-forgotten experience of becoming close with a woman. Before I met her, it would’ve been utterly impossible to explain the ache that I now feel, from the deepest part of my heart.
I’m not sure there is any fulfillment as intense and beautiful and meaningful as that which comes from the companionship of a man with a woman. Whatever this is, it’s surely from the soul, or from the heart—from whatever part of a human is capable of holding real truth and love. The thought of continuing this journey solo now seems unutterably lonely.”
10/13/22
“I’m writing this now a few hours later from Chaweng Beach, where I just briefly fell asleep. The beach is nice, but not that nice. Koh Samui is definitely not what I’d hoped it would be—there’s very little quaintness to it, and the main roads are big highways. I know I should probably give it more time, but I think I’m going to head over to Koh Phangan tomorrow.”
10/13/22
Even still, I wondered how much of this newfound disdain for Koh Samui was simply due to the fact that it was someplace other than where she was.
The next day, I wrote:
“This morning, after spending some time on the beach, I hitched a ride in one of those pickup truck taxis to the ferry, and started over to Koh Phangan.
For the last hour of the ride, I stood on the deck, looking at the surreal ocean, island, and sunset scenery, listening to the very soundtracks that had played such a huge part in inspiring me to go on this adventure in the first place. It was serene, somber, and incredibly powerful.
Even still, I can’t stop thinking about her, and the way I felt falling asleep next to her on the bus. After last night, it’s like there’s such a void in my trip and in my life.”
10/14/22
The best way I can describe it is that continuing such an adventure alone, without someone like her to share it with, felt pointless—as if the meaning and purpose had been stripped clean out, and the whole thing was now just a sad “going-through-the-motions,” like the guy who goes on his honeymoon trip anyway after his fiancée broke off their engagement. I also just couldn’t shake this romantic feeling of possibility—of fate and destiny—as the ferry drew nearer and nearer to Koh Phangan, nearer and nearer to where she was.
The dictionary defines a soulmate as “a close friend or romantic partner with whom one has a unique deep connection based on mutual understanding and acceptance.”
Most people assume the concept of a soulmate is nonsense—probably because most people can never seem to find one. And yet, as all the great stories and movies attest, that doesn’t mean there isn’t one for you. In fact, the great romantic fear of a thousand classic novels is that you might miss your soulmate. You might pass them by unaware, and end up married to another.
But my overnight bus ride with that Turkish girl made me wonder if perhaps those authors of antiquity got something wrong.
Because the one thing missing from the above definition of “soulmate” is the concept of time. There’s just no mention of it, no statement that this person has to—or even should—be with you forever.
Your soulmate could be the girl who drops her keys on the rainy sidewalk in front of you, and looks oddly deep into your eyes as you hand them back to her.
Your soulmate could be the man who approached your table at the café to tell you you’re beautiful, and ended up inspiring you to stick it out just one more day trying to be a singer.
Or, your soulmate could be the woman next to you on an overnight bus through Thailand, who pours out her soul to you in the tiny, 12-hour window of one long night, only for you to never see her or speak to her again.
And what I’m getting at is maybe—just maybe—that’s not always a shame. Maybe, for you, it was meant to be like that. Maybe a soulmate isn’t always a forever thing. Maybe just their memory is potent enough—and when you look back in 20 or 30 or 50 years, you’ll find that your encounter with your soulmate, however fleeting, was the very thing that caused you to make that one right decision, which led you down all the right paths, and culminated in a life more beautiful than you thought possible.
But at this point, I’m sure you, dear reader, just want me to stop rambling and get back to the story. Did I ever make it to Koh Phangan and reunite with this ravishing mystery woman?
I’ll save that for a later date.
How romantic! ❤️