I feel transcendent, unstoppable here—in this place, in this unknown land.

I close my eyes, tilt my head up slightly, and allow the sun to embrace my skin. Soft tingles rush through me, warming my body and lighting me from within. The gentle whisper of a breeze caresses through my unbound hair, whipping it around my face in a radiant russet halo. My lungs fill with heavy, wet salt air. I slowly look back down towards the sea and step forward against the railing lining the stone path.

I rest my hands upon the cap and the rough brush of sandstone tethers me to this moment. I rub the surface with the tips of my fingers, feeling the years it wears upon its face, the secret stories hidden within those traces. The ocean waves crest in a heartbeat, their syncopated brush upon the sand echoing my own slow beat. All around me the steady mumble of life buzzes: rhythmic beats of soles hitting the textured pathway; indistinguishable murmur of voices in conversation; melodious laughter of children; cawing of gulls. The white noise of city life isn’t new nor unexpected, but this is somehow different—more intimate than what I am used to.

Despite the steady noise around me I know I am alone. Thoughts of being in an unknown land should scare me but they don’t. Instead, I feel oddly at peace. I am keenly aware no friends are here to share in the otherworldly beauty of this place. I feel a slight pang of guilt knowing how much Natalie would enjoy the “old world” vibes this place gives off, or how an enthused Katrina would unhesitatingly begin any number of conversations with those passing by. It only lasts a moment though; I feel too complete here to regret anything. I shake off the thoughts of others and focus on just being.

Being alone—solitude—isn’t anything revolutionary. I prefer it in fact. While nothing can minimize the joys that come when being around friends, I favor a quiet pace to let myself really take everything in. My mind is a constant whirl of questions, and I cannot help but seek reason for anything and everything I encounter. Trying to balance meaningful interactions with others while my brain is fully occupied asking those questions of why is overwhelming to say the least. While I feel I have refined the art, I often prefer not having to do mental acrobatics. It’s simpler by myself, more peaceful.

I look down and see a few groups of people meandering along another path. My mind drifts away and quickly overcome with confusion. How did I even end up here? I don’t remember planning a trip.

A shrill screech rings out and I whip my head around as my thoughts are shrewdly interrupted. A young girl loudly giggles and squeals as she runs away from a boy, breaths coming in pants. Their ebony skin shines with hints of gold in the fierce barrage of sunlight. Every step the girl takes causes her dark hair to bounce in a joyous dance only echoed by her elated expression. The slight furrow of the boy’s brow reflects both determination and delight as he chases his sister through the legs of those walking by. I smile, momentarily missing childhood innocence, while also pitting them for the harsh realities that will seep in as they grow older.

I quickly turn and look out to sea once more, needing to be caught up in the moment of this place. If I focus too much on the others around me, I will be washed away by thoughts about those strangers. I will become lost in my thoughts. Alone is good. I’m comfortable with alone.

The buildings around me, made of the same light sandstone as the railing I lean upon, terrace down in layers to the ocean. Their red terracotta roofs dot the landscape below. Intricate pathways weave their way through the town, all leading to one goal—the sea. At the nadir of that slope lies a strip of pale gold, tiny silhouettes shuffle along the sand as people enjoy their day at the beach. My eyes are drawn by a sparkling dance of light jumping from the surface of the ocean and I stare, enchanted, at the elegant movements. This feels like something that should be featured in a travel vlog or a “10 Best Places to Visit” list. It’s almost ethereal in its simple perfection.

To my left, timber piers jut out from the land. Rustic looking fishing boats bob slightly in the surf, made of wood and ropes and cotton. There is no sleek white fiberglass, no trace of smoke or steam billowing from engines, no modernity. It feels odd that everything here seems so antiquated. Where are the cars? The asphalt roads? The ambient pings of phone notifications?

I pause, this place is too implausibly ideal. I try to process this impossibly idealized land as I breathe—But no… No matter what, I am here and now. That is the fact I’m putting my all into. I don’t want to explore that uncertainty, don’t want to start questioning where I am and what is happening again.

I step back from the railing and spin around facing the buildings on the opposite side of the path. My hand trails along the stone and falls to my side as I begin slow steps into the sparce crowd that passes by. I barely grace the meandering groups before an unnerving ringing begins in my ears. It’s disorienting and I quickly dart my eyes about, searching for the source. I take another step, and the ringing grows louder; a deafening sound that drowns out the crowd, the sea, my own thoughts. Another and I involuntarily reach to block my ears, eyes slamming shut. The world is spinning, the piercing hum is too much. I’m painting, heart racing. My head is light, my throat constrained. It feel like my body will cleave in two.

I stumble backward, hands falling to the stone below and skitter back like a crab. Almost instantly the sound stops. I bump into a wall behind me and freeze. Eyes still closed, I take steading breaths. In and out. In. Out. Everything has stilled. The quiet mumble of the crowd is back. I feel a gentle breeze sift through my hair. I feel grounded.

What was that?

I open my eyes. I’m sitting against the railing back where I started. Nothing seems unusual, nothing out of place, and no discernable explanation for what just happened. My world felt like it was about to collapse and I don’t know why. That thought terrifies me to my soul. Suddenly it’s vital that I remember what brought me to this place. I need to know, need to remember, need to understand. I look around, stupidly hoping that the answers to my questions will appear.

So many different types of people shuffle by, but they all feel foreign. I get the vivid sense that I am nowhere near my home. An old lady carries a woven basket filled with leafy greens and carrots, the foliage dangling down to touch the roughhewn stone. The silvery grey of her hair is adorned with a flower-patterned scarf, sheer enough that I wonder if it provides any sun protection at all. A group of women huddle together near the teal painted door of a building gossiping in hushed tones. The two children who were playing chase a few moments ago are being reprimanded by a tall man. I can’t distinguish the specifics of what is being said, but the tone is stern. A family perhaps?

There are people all around, but I know no one. Everyone is acting like everything is normal, unaware of the eccentricity I just experienced. No one seems to even acknowledge me; they just continue their daily tasks. I close my eyes and let out a long lingering breath. My thoughts spin about what I should do next. Do I try to walk into the crowd again? Do I ask someone where I am? …. But they are all strangers. Suddenly, I’m not so sure that alone is truly all that comfortable. This is a new type of “alone”, one I haven’t experienced before. This alone feels isolating, feels targeted, feels petrifying. This alone is something I want to run from, forget, and never look back.

I try to shake off this terror…I’m not alone though, I have a phone. My face flushes and I release a bemused chuckle, feeling foolish that I hadn’t thought to check it until now, had let my panic disorient me. I reach for my pocket, intending to pull it out, check my location, maybe text someone about what just happened. My hands pat only against the thin fabric clothing my hips. I don’t have my phone…

Standing up, I frantically glance around my feet, praying I simply dropped it nearby. It’s not on the ground. I feel desperate; I need to find my phone. Erratically, I widen my search further up and down the railing. Having a phone is not only important for practical reasons, but I feel physically off without it. I’m naked without its comforting weight in my pocket.

Despite my efforts I begin to lose hope when, just out of reach, I see a pair of masculine hands resting on the cap of the rail. Perhaps he saw me drop my phone or, better yet, picked it up without realizing it was mine. I open my mouth to ask when I notice the hands are gripping the stone so tightly that veins pop out around the knuckles. I follow those hands up to see a man taking in the view of the sea. His dirty blonde curls flutter with the light breeze. The sun highlights the rim of his profile, making the edge glow with golden light. It creates a stark contrast to the rich blue sky, emphasizing a strong nose, high cheekbones, and a soft expression. If hadn’t just observed the tension in his hands, I would have guessed he was content, taken by the beauty of this town. But I know better. His head turns, feeling my gaze upon him, and we make eye contact. For one fleeting moment the glacial blue of his ephemeral gaze pierces through me and I hold back a shudder.

I blink and am no longer there.