Pipa rolls up like, “this heat is perfect for sweating out last night’s poor choices,” while I’m over here watching my camera melt.

About 20 minutes in, I realized I had heat stroke. I was praying for cloud cover and a Gatorade. Every mosquito in the region came to mass.

Pipa? Full Rambo-Barbie. At one point she grabbed a tree branch, stretched like she was in a Dior ad, and said, “Reach for the skies, bitch.”

She called it a “tropical cleanse.” I called it trauma.

But there’s something about shooting in nature that just breaks you open, no AC, no filters, just sweat, chaos, and lizards judging you from the bushes.

“If you can’t stand the heat, get better content.”, Pipa, probably.

Pro tip: bring more water. And maybe don’t agree to shoot when the weather app says “fuck you.”