I recently fulfilled a childhood dream. I went to Goa with my best friend. It’s the stuff movies are made of. The kind of movies that put you in a life’s-so-fun phase or let’s-just-live-for-the-moment mood or simply give you that woo-hooo high.
After a lifetime of planning, we had finally arrived. With bag and baggage. Full of excitement and of course, the perfect clothes. We had waited for this too long to let it go not-adequately dressed.
We booked a month in advance. We packed a week ahead. And in those three days and three nights that we were there, we lived a teenage worth of imagination.
I’m not exaggerating. All those things they say about Goa - all that jazz about feeling like a free spirit or bird, whichever you prefer - it’s all true.
I don’t know if it’s the sea or the sand or the wind that blows over them both. But watching the clouds swing past each other while you sip some port wine with your close pals, or even strangers, is probably what gives the term exhilarating its meaning.
It’s a dream, it’s a trance, it’s like floating in the air. Where you become one with the birds and the breeze. When you can collect all those scattered selves and put them together once again.
