I went to the Aryani again recently. Alone, this time. It wasn’t something that I planned or gave too much thought about. I had a few days to burn and decided sitting on a beach was what I needed.
I didn’t pack much. Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami, a fully charged mobile phone and MP3 player for my facebook and music fix, a couple of crisp white t-shirts fresh from its vacuum-packed bag, sunglasses, the usual girl’s stuff – everything fitted neatly into the orange Rip Curl beach bag that I bought two summers ago in Singapore.
The place is as beautiful as I remember. The staff friendly yet respectful. There is a very calming quality in the air, untouched by the noise and chaos that I am used to in my daily life. I couldn’t sleep much on the first night; a little scared of being alone in this little corner of the world, a little restless from not having anything to do. After a while, the quietness got to me. Everything in me – my mind, my body – everything slowed down.
In the mornings, I walked around the garden. The air was always warm and slightly damp, the sound of the sea accompanying every footstep. There was no one else around. Not even a cat. How strange to have this wonderful place all to myself.
I didn’t do much thinking or reading. Sitting there by the beach, with a bowl of grapes on my lap, mostly I just stared at the waves and daydreamed. The daydreams were wispy and formless. They didn’t make me anxious. They were just blurry photographs of a future; one that is yet to happen, one that I still have time to shape.
I love this place and the memories it holds.
I’ll be here again, when the time is right. I promise.
