The Mosquito

If I know one insect, I know the mosquito.

My relationship with this pesky bug has existed basically as long as I have. Like any relationship, we’ve had our highs and lows, but mostly lows. I remember a particular hike in Hawaii which ended in me fleeing the coffee bean forest in tears, running straight into the ocean to escape from the bites. I remember counting the bites on my body, usually averaging out at an even 60. Recently though, I thought that the mosquito population in general had lost interest and had moved on to another victim.

I was wrong. The mosquitoes here in Bali love me as they love no other. The first thing I do when I wake up is spray bug repellent all over my exposed skin, but every night when I go to bed, I count more bites. The worst bites are the ones on my fingers and toes; I have a bite on each big toe. Maybe they haven’t had any American blood for a while, maybe they will grow tired of me.

I hope so, because our relationship will suffer as I try to kill more and more of the local mosquito population. However, the important word in that previous sentence is try. Not only do these bugs love me more than any bug in Idaho ever has, but these guys are the fastest and trickiest I’ve ever waged a war against. Unlike their American cousins, the Balinese mosquitoes are light and agile; they do not lumber through the air, instead they flit across the currents, taking advantage of each breath to fly a little farther, a little faster.

The mosquitoes are able to enter my room through the bathroom, which has a permanently opened window, and although I try to keep the door closed, some eventually find their way through the door. This would be ok, except that not only to they find their way into my room, but they also sneak into my netted bed and lie in wait, violating me the moment I fall asleep. Like I said, our relationship is suffering.

Until the day when these stupid bugs get tired of my blood (unlikely) or the entire population is wiped out by a super smart bomb, I have to put up with my own slapping, clapping, itching, picking, scabbing, and swearing.

Thankfully, if I know one cream, I know hydrocortisone.