The Island 🏝️

I’m such an idiot. I had a completely different idea of what a sandbar was. In my head, I imagined an actual bar—like an open cocktail bar—set on the sand. I pictured a soulmate perched on a stool, sipping beer or some tropical drink, and me approaching to order something cold for myself. Turns out, it's just a strip of sand in the middle of the ocean. No cocktails. No soulmate. Just sand.

I didn't sleep at all the night before. In the car, I felt most exhausted and nauseous. I always endeavour to look out the window when traveling through the countryside and listen to music and daydream the whole journey away, so when I spent most of the ride with my eyes closed, it felt like a wasted opportunity. The beautiful foggy mountains and landscapes I missed.. Even then, despite the heaviness of my fatigue, sleep never came. Just this dull ache gnawing at the back of my skull. Turns out there were four more people going with us: my brother-in-law's two brothers, the driver, and the driver's wife. To my disappointment, no soulmate shared a vessel with us on the way to the island. In fact, no outsider was with us at all, for we had the entire boat to ourselves. I was a bit conflicted with this VIP treatment. On one hand, it gave us the comfort of exclusivity; on the other, a soulmate could've been there with us—or any cute guy, for that matter—who would've easily been a good source of dopamine and therefore kept me self-conscious and awake. The vessel could hold 20 passengers, but my sister said the ride back and forth was free, all because my brother-in-law is well-known on that pier, being the one who inspects the boats.

There were so many things I was wrong about when it came to the island. Well, the sandbar, for one. There really is no electricity, though. No running water either. Just people hauling gallons to rinse the sea from their skin. That part I guessed right. But I’d imagined a sparse place, a quiet, almost abandoned haven. It had rained at dawn—hard—and I prayed we wouldn’t go. I hoped the coastguards would close the route again, like last year. But my sister clung to the belief that the sun would redeem the day, so I dragged myself out of bed and into preparation. And I, foolishly, believed the rain would mean fewer people. Yet, the moment we docked, I was not met with awe but with a drop of heart. The island was full—cottages dotting the shore, tents propped amidst palm trees, laughter echoing from unfamiliar mouths. Perhaps I exaggerate. It really just had enough people. But in my head, you see, I expected it to only have like ten or twenty.

The beach was magnificent, a breathtaking view stretching into a stunning turquoise sea. The sand was soft, pale, and slightly textured with footprints, leading your eye toward the endless horizon, where faint silhouettes of mountains or islands lay still, adding depth and serenity to the scene. When you stand in the sandbar far away from the cottages, it seems as though it's the kind of place that feels like a dream—untouched, peaceful, and absolutely mesmerising.

However, I couldn't find in myself the ardour to appreciate it enough. Perhaps it was the crowd, or the unbearable, merciless heat that replaced the rain like punishment. Perhaps I was not in the presence of the right company. Or perhaps... perhaps it just wasn’t anything new. I’ve been to a lot of beaches, and though this one may technically be more beautiful, to me, it felt familiar. I expected to be blown away. I wasn’t.

Funny thing is, last year, when the coastguards prohibited me and my friends from going because of a storm, I was devastated. But in hindsight, it was for the best. The island has no rooms—just cottages and tents. That storm would’ve soaked us through, ripped our tents to shreds, and turned the trip into a full-on survival story. We were better off in the cosy resort we ended up at instead.

There was signal, by the way. Just barely. Weak and flickering like a half-dead heartbeat.

Despite the blue water looking so cool and inviting, and apparently being literally so, according to my sister, I wasn't tempted to swim at all—not with the harshness of the sun scorching down like an unforgiving god. So while everyone laughed and swam and lived, I stayed in the cottage in the guise of keeping watch on our things, began writing this, feeling profoundly alone in a vibrant and sunny place. Still, in that loneliness, I couldn't feel sad. The heat smothered everything—even melancholy.

By noon, the blue of the sky was repainted with grey, as if the heavens heard my prayers and plea. Only then, when it had started to rain, did the water manage to entice me, beckoning for me to surrender my body into its stunning clarity. So I changed into my bikini and finally immersed myself in the cold embrace of the sea. It was this time around that soulmates had arrived. Most came in pairs, effectively making me jealous, but there was a cute one—tattooed, fit in a way that says gym but also pizza—who caught the eyes of the women near me, mine included. He passed our cottage earlier, and something in his stride caught my attention. Or maybe I was just starved for something to pay attention to.

Nearby, the same group of women, including gay guys, were being conspicuously loud about their friend's clear interest in the newcomer. When he walked by, this friend in question instantly rose and emerged from the water to show her body in a blue bikini, and then struck a pose as she eyed the outlander, earning more laughter and hollers from her friends. She did other stuff that should steal his attention, like twerking. It was entertaining to watch, I almost felt envious. Not of her boldness, but of the company she was with, which so fueled her confidence. Places like this are just more fun with friends. My own friends would've been just as loud, just as unhinged (especially Venice) in their support of my crush. In my lonesomeness, I imagined he might’ve noticed me too. That maybe I was part of the reason he swam near. That he looked when I wasn’t looking. I'm pretty fit myself. But the woman in the blue bikini was curvier—twice my size—and perhaps that's more his type, for he lingered closer to them. I felt their chaos bloated his ego, so what did I do? I swam the other way, behind one of the docked pump boats, out of sight from them, to show him he didn't strike me as interesting 🙃

I passed men who gave me once-overs, and those fleeting glances fed the starving ego. It made me wonder if maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t invisible. If they saw me, perhaps he did too. Or maybe not. Maybe it was all in my head. How different the whole day might’ve felt if I’d been there with someone instead. A lover. A partner. The heat, the strangers, the small disappointments—they would’ve melted away, and the island might’ve bloomed for me the way it seemed to for others.

Later, the driver’s wife invited me to the other side of the island—quieter, rockier, filled with fish. I joined her, her husband, and the rest of the guys. My sister stayed behind with her toddler, who had dozed off in the cottage. There, I snorkeled. To my terror, I had swum into an area where the seabed dropped, and I almost panicked, thinking I had gone too far. I resurfaced, but when my feet failed to come in contact with the ground, that panic became real in the form of flailing arms. Yes, I don't know how to swim. I can float, but that's that. Thank goodness my feet reached the floor again, otherwise I’d have died of embarrassment before I even drowned if I’d had to cry for help in front of all of them. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed my unflattering struggle. They hadn't. Still… wouldn’t have minded if it were him who saved me. But the mental image of me thrashing in panic is not something I ever want to become real.

During lunch, my brother-in-law relayed information he had only just learned—something tragic that occurred on the island just the day before. Two visitors had drowned and died on the same side of the island where we had been snorkeling. My, but what horror! The same fate could’ve easily happened to me..

By two, we set off to depart. Ugh, but the overcast sky, the gentle blow of the icy wind, and the drizzle made everything so dramatically beautiful, I almost felt sad leaving. However, that was the best part of the whole trip. That moment. Quitting the island. As we left, the melancholia I yearned for all day finally got to wrap itself around me. With music in my ears, I brooded. Daydreamed. Reflected. Mirroring the grey skies above shedding their tears on the ominous waters below. I watched the undulating waves of the ocean and imagined a thousand giant serpents slithering beneath the turmoil, as if preparing for battle, and I, in the midst of it all, a princess captured by pirates. 

The rain whispered over the ocean like a lullaby, and for the first time that day, I felt something real settle in my chest. Leaving the island was the most poetic part of being there. Funny how that works.