Goa: Powered by Feni and Existential Interruptions

You move to Goa, drink some feni… and ta da - the waves wash in the susegad feels and wash out your worries.

It sounds absurd, but life here really does rearrange something inside you.

The poi man honks you awake every morning. “Annoying” is the first word that comes to mind, sure, but there’s poetry in irritation too right!?

By sunset, the mood shifts. The day folds up neatly as the night unfurls; the world turns down its brightness, and a breeze kindly does the same to you. Suddenly you’re surrounded by new faces, new stories, and a kind of relaxed dreaminess that seeps into your bones. Intoxicants; both literal and figurative - tend to show up whether you invite them along or not.

The new day arrives often without warning, and sometimes, you’re not even done with the previous one. You draw the curtains open, and depending on the night you had, reality knocks either gently or firmly at your door: work to do, rent to pay, dreams to chase. Goa doesn’t spare you the mundane: it simply dresses it differently.

I often wish I had more hours in the day, though I know I’d spend them wrestling with the same dilemma: Should I cycle? Should I swim? Should I chase my dreams? Or should I just dance my way through another day? It isn’t confusion so much as the sweet chaos of wanting to live fully.

It’s dangerously easy to get carried away here. People are affectionate, the energy is buoyant, and the environment constantly interrupts your existential spirals with, “Not now, babe! Look at that bird, or tree, or sunset, or tiny little creature crawling across your dashboard!" (mind that last distraction, its a real safety hazard)

So here’s a toast to Goa, where each day arrives brand new. Problems still pop in, mostly to remind you you’re alive and capable. And loneliness? It rarely makes it past the front gate. Support appears from surprising corners: your neighbour, a friend, or someone you met while buying vegetables.

Goa is changing, of course. And a part of me wants to hold on to what it was, to freeze its charm in the version I first fell in love with. Maybe that’s why I keep reminding myself to live it all fully. So, I’m living every minute like it won’t come back, celebrating life because sometimes it feels much too short. What’s the point of dreaming if you can’t try to turn your dreams into some version of reality?

Goa has taught me that joy doesn’t always arrive quietly, and clarity almost never arrives in time. But I’m grateful; deeply, quietly appreciative, to be here for all of it. The friendships, the dilemmas, the support, and the heartbreaks. Which are all intrinsically part of who we are.

Life is pretty poi-fect sometimes

The Village Vegetable Run

Waves come and go -still, I remain afloat