Let me tell you today about one of my most cherished memories — a delicate treasure tucked safely in the folds of my heart.
It was, perhaps, my very first real trip. A quiet rebellion.

I remember calling into work, weaving a gentle excuse about personal matters. Because where I come from, work-life balance is a myth — a luxury spoken of in distant places. They had once begrudged me even two days off for my own brother’s wedding. Imagine that.

So to steal time for myself felt almost criminal — and utterly exhilarating.

✨ The Coastal Night

We set out for Manipal, a small, sleepy city resting on the western coast of India, where Karnataka cradles Kerala’s hand. Maybe that’s why the air there felt so familiar — the scent of salt and spice, the easy music of coconut trees whispering overhead. The earth wore a shared culture, a shared soul.

It was New Year’s Eve when we decided to visit Maple Beach — a hidden gem on the Arabian Sea.
While the world chased the feverish charm of Goa’s shores, this stretch of sand remained humble, clothed mostly in locals and festival vendors.

We walked along the dusky shoreline until we found a quiet perch by the rocks. My friends gathered in laughter, bottles clinking, the soft curl of jokes rising into the night. I sat slightly apart, newly befriended by my own solitude, content to watch the ocean breathe.

Above us, lanterns bloomed — gentle spheres of fire drifting into the ink-dark sky. And then, as if the universe wished to conspire with our small joy, the waves themselves began to glow.

At first, I thought it was a trick of my eager mind. But someone else gasped, pointing — and yes, there it was: the sea alive with light. Each crest of water sparkled in eerie blue, tiny living lanterns swirling just beneath the surface. Bioluminescence. Nature’s own miracle. My breath caught. My heart swelled. I wanted to stay there forever.

Midnight came. We exchanged quiet New Year wishes, still half-lost in wonder. Eventually, we tore ourselves away, wandering back through shadowed streets to where sleep waited.

🌲 The Whispering Forest

Morning arrived wrapped in a silver chill. We zipped through forests on mopeds, air so cold it kissed our skin awake. I don’t even remember the name of the place we went — only how it felt.

We left our bikes at the forest’s edge and began to climb. An hour or more of walking through a world that seemed to hum with old secrets. Trees stood like ancient sentinels, their gnarled roots taller than me, twisted into stories only they understood.

Sometimes we stopped, stacking little stones or just to catch our breath, heads tilted to marvel at shafts of sunlight breaking through the canopy. Golden lace on emerald velvet.

At last, we heard it — the thunder of water long before we saw it. Following the jubilant song of the stream, we scrambled over boulders, crossed laughing rivulets, until finally the trees opened up to reveal a colossal waterfall.

I couldn’t even see where it began. By the time the water met the earth below, it exploded into a million fine droplets, a delicate mist that wrapped around us, chilled us to our very bones. We stood there, drenched and shivering, letting the spray baptize us clean.

When we trekked back, it was mostly in silence. A sacred hush had fallen over us — words felt too small to hold the wonder we’d just lived. Our silence was a poem, speaking volumes our mouths never could.

🌊 Where the River Meets the Sea

Later that day, as if our hearts weren’t already brimming with wonder, we wandered to a hanging bridge.
It stood gracefully suspended between two worlds — a quiet marvel of ropes and wooden planks that creaked ever so slightly beneath our feet.

Far below us, a river rushed eagerly toward the sea, their waters folding into each other in gentle, swirling embraces.
I watched the way the darker river currents tangled with the saltwater, forming delicate ribbons of color that danced on the surface.
It was like witnessing two old lovers meeting again after years apart — shy at first, then inseparable.

And then, as we leaned over the edge, the water began to come alive with tiny drifting lanterns.
Jellyfish — dozens of them, maybe hundreds, moving with the slow, meditative grace of something too beautiful for this world.
Their bodies were sheer and iridescent, each pulse of their tender bells catching stray shards of sunlight and scattering them back as little rainbows.

They floated together as if performing a silent ballet just for us.
Some trailed long, ghostly tendrils, undulating with the tide. Others hovered close to the surface, so close you could almost reach down and stroke their delicate crowns.

It felt miraculous, unreal, like nature’s private exhibition put on solely for our delight.
For a moment, we all just stood there in hushed awe, mouths slightly open, breaths soft and reverent.
The hush of the world, the mingling of river and sea, the quiet ghost-lanterns of jellyfish drifting below — it all wrapped around us, whispering that life held far more enchantment than we ever allowed ourselves to notice.

Standing there, watching them swirl beneath me, I felt a surge of tender hope.
Maybe all this — the glowing waves, the ancient trees, the jellyfish waltzing at the meeting of river and sea — was the universe’s gentle way of telling me:
“Look, my love. There is still so much magic left for you. Stay a while longer.”

-daisiesinmysoul