The hotel is nestled between rocks and ocean. A jetty juts out into the sea, inviting you to dive off the edge. It doesn't matter if you can't swim. Even drowning in those waters would be a pleasure. I stand on the edge and am reminded of the marbles I played with as a child, spinning blue, turquoise and white in the sunlight.
No one else is up yet. Just me and the sunrise. Four-thirty a.m. The time when the panic attacks come. The time I've come to dread. But not here. Here, four-thirty a.m is a secret blessing. I salute the sun. Stretch out my limbs. Feel the tension leave. I'm living the timeline of an Instagram goddess. I sit in lotus at the edge of the waters, clearing my mind. Clearing my history.
I'm trying not to think of the dead body they found knocking the shoreline yesterday evening. Not the best start to a holiday in paradise. I'd been stretched out on a sun-lounger, listening to my meditation tracks, when the sound of screaming pierced through my transcendental bliss.
The next hour was an unfolding crime show of activity and characters. Tailored shirts, Ray Bans and hands on hips whilst a photographer in white paper overalls snapped photo after photo.
I should have gone inside. Shut it all out. But I couldn't. I was captivated by the drama of it. Sometimes life is like that. No matter how much you know you should leave, you don't. You just simply, don't.