At 3:30 pm, my hostel was full of old couples who had taken the 9:45 ferry. Choppy waters made for roller-coaster travel. Like airplane turbulence. I heard his voice in the back of my mind saying "Look at the horizon. It doesn't move". I felt the swells of the ocean, the lack of gravity in my skin, and the bottom of my stomach, which yearned to settle back into its rightful place. I love airplanes, and I fear boats. I fear them because I don't want to lose the illusion of progress, of growth. You grow out of motion sickness and into ten AM naps, short wiry haircuts, and the retelling of the same story, in perpetuity. We all reach a point where comfort outweighs perception. At 5:00 pm, my hostel was filled with individuals in their 30s, who had taken the 1:45 ferry. Their travel documentation spans the scope of Insta-filters, but messages are always a little too short and not enough direct. We saw the red-eye hours reflected in glassy gazes. My dorm-mate was asleep w...