"Rebel, Reflect, Rise."

I didn’t plan to end up deep in the jungles of Papua. In fact, after graduating high school, all I wanted was to be a college student like most of my friends. I tried my luck at several state universities in my city, hoping one of them would take me in. None did. That’s when fate—in the form of a church mission worker (or “Pastor,” as people called him)—stepped in and offered me something... different. “Want to be a young teacher in the middle of nowhere?” he asked casually. I said yes, like someone who thinks hiking means walking to the mall.

That “middle of nowhere” turned out to be a remote village in Papua, a place you couldn’t even find on Google Maps, probably because Google gave up. My journey there took four days and three nights. We drove for 48 hours—no kidding—through mountain slopes, muddy cliffs, and across rivers that laughed at the idea of bridges. And just when I thought, “Surely we’re almost there,” we switched to a boat. Not just any boat, but a batang—a traditional canoe carved from tree trunks. We sailed for 30 hours down a murky river filled with crocodiles who stared at us like we were the buffet.

When we finally reached dry land, I was told, cheerfully, “Now we walk!”—as if my legs hadn’t already filed a resignation letter. We hiked 6 to 8 more hours through thick forest, guided only by instinct, sweat, and a guy named Simon who may or may not have been lost. I had barely eaten. My backpack was heavier than my regrets. At some point, the trees started spinning, and the ground felt more comfortable than it should. I passed out before I even reached my new “home.” That was Day One. Welcome to life.