Be Careful What You Manifest: Running Away From a Paradise I Built

Be Careful What You Manifest: Running Away From a Paradise I Built

Had I built my dream, or had I just constructed my own nightmare? I was heading toward the airport with my young daughter, leaving so fast it felt like an escape. I hadn’t even said goodbye to my employees. At that moment, where we were going or how long we would stay didn’t matter at all. My only thought was to get off this island, take a deep breath, and get away from the strange spirits I believed were haunting my workplace.

Eight years ago, sitting completely alone under the moonlight on that endless, empty beach, I had no idea things would turn out like this.

It is absolutely true that the things you manifest will find you one day. But you really have to be careful what you wish for. Otherwise, you might find yourself running away from the very thing you built as a dream, without even looking back.

I had come to this island with a broken heart, holding onto a faint hope that a dying relationship could still be saved.

Because deep down, I knew Paul was supposed to follow me.

We had made these vacation plans together. In fact, I never would have thought of this island on my own—I could barely even pinpoint it on a map. Paul was the one who brought it up. He had planned everything for New Year’s, even making a detailed bucket list of things to do. Because our vacation days at work started at different times, the plan was for me to fly out first, and he would join me a few days later.

Until the whole thing turned into a cliché cheating story

Just a week before the flight, a massive fight exploded between us over some things I saw on his phone. Naturally, I was instantly labeled the "paranoid woman." Just like in every cheating story, I was told that there was absolutely nothing going on and that I was just imagining things. But I was old enough not to fall for that nonsense. So, as we sat side-by-side on those bar stools, I calmly looked at him and said I didn’t believe a word.

Furious, he stormed out of the bar.

Maybe he thought I would run after him. Maybe he thought I would call him and beg for forgiveness. I did neither. Inside, it felt like someone was ruthlessly crumbling up my heart like a piece of old newspaper, but my brain kept telling me I was right.

A whole week dragged by. He didn't call, and neither did I.

Right up until the final day, I kept thinking about canceling the trip and letting the ticket go to waste. But if I didn't go, what was I going to do? Everyone in my city had already left for Christmas and New Year’s. Spending two weeks completely alone in an empty, ghost town of a city didn’t exactly feel like the best environment for self-reflection.

There was only one major problem: Paul had done all the research, mapped out the itinerary, and taken all the notes. I had absolutely no clue about this massive island. I didn't know what I was going to do or where I was going to go for days.

But then I told myself, whatever. I had grabbed my backpack and hit the road alone, planless and ticketless, many times before. The road had always guided me somewhere, always surprising me with beautiful experiences and unforgettable memories.

I decided to trust that gut feeling again. My flight was the next afternoon. I would just go and figure everything out on the fly—complete improvisation. With those thoughts running through my head, I finally fell asleep.

When I grabbed my pre-packed backpack the next morning and headed to the airport, I was already starting to feel a little bit better. The road, the journey itself, had always been my therapy.

A few hours later, I was at the airport. It was packed. Everyone was buzzing with that classic Christmas and New Year’s excitement, counting down the moments until they could reunite with their loved ones. Me? I was looking forward to yet another solitary New Year’s Eve.

As I sat in the aisle seat of the plane, staring blankly at the flight attendant's feet, I started counting how many New Year’s Eves I had spent completely alone, doing absolutely nothing. It didn't really matter anyway. After all, packing up my life and moving to a foreign country—pushing away all those crowded, festive holidays in exchange for lonely ones—had been my own choice.

While I was mindlessly flipping through the airline magazine with a thousand tangled thoughts in my head, we were already beginning our descent.

The flight felt shorter than I expected. Hilariously enough, I hadn't even bothered to check how long the journey would take before buying the ticket. It was pitch black outside, somewhere around 8:00 PM. The moment the plane deployed its landing gear and began taxiing on the tarmac, people were already jumping out of their seats, racing each other to grab their bags. I was in no rush.

I waited until half the plane emptied out, slowly stood up, pulled my single backpack from the overhead bin, and walked toward the exit. After passing through passport control, I stopped by the duty-free shop to grab a bottle of Bacardi. Just in case, you know, for New Year’s Eve. At that point, I had no clue what was sold where on this island.

Right before exiting the airport, I quickly bought a local SIM card. The second I stepped out of the doors, I was hit by a wall of intense heat and humidity that made itself felt even at that hour of the night. Dozens of taxi drivers were competing with each other, shouting to grab a customer. Just as I was about to wave down a cab, a bus caught my eye. Half of it was already full. I walked over and asked the driver where he was heading.

He said he was going to the city center.

Perfect. At least I had thought far enough ahead to know that starting near the capital’s center was a smart move. I hopped on. Looking around, I realized the bus was filled entirely with locals; it seemed like the tourists hadn’t discovered this route yet.

After the driver waited another ten minutes for more passengers, we finally set off.

We started driving down a wide, flat road in the dark of the evening. I stared out the window with curious eyes, but there wasn't much to see at first. After a while, a burst of activity signaled that we were entering the city center. There were more lights and streetlamps now, though it was definitely much dimmer than any capital city I had ever known.

The bus kept stopping here and there to let people on and off while I monitored my phone's map, waiting for us to get close to what looked like the downtown core. Another ten minutes went by, and the bus pulled into a station. There were dozens of other buses parked there. On my map, we were still a bit far from where I wanted to be, but seeing everyone stand up and unload, I realized this was the final stop. Without needing to ask, I followed the locals out of the bus.

The station was incredibly crowded and chaotic.

Street vendors were shouting, people were rushing in every direction, and weaving through the crowd were tuk-tuks—the absolute lifeblood of transportation on this island.

I approached one of the drivers and pointed to the district I wanted to reach. He gave me a massive smile, nodded a cheerful "Okay, ok," and motioned toward the back. I jumped right into the back seat, clenching my backpack tightly in my lap.

I couldn’t see much in the darkness yet, but a strange sensation had already wrapped itself around me. It’s a feeling that is incredibly hard to put into words. It felt like I belonged there. Like I had been there before. It felt like something familiar.

With those thoughts spinning in my head, we sped off into the noisy, rattling night, watching the city blur past.

Before long, we arrived at the area known as Old Town. The tuk-tuk driver was chatty, asking the classic tourist questions about where I was from and how long I was staying. When he finally announced, "We are here, this is Old Town," I paid him, thanked him, and stepped out. I had chosen this area assuming that because it was touristy, finding a place to sleep for one night would be easy.

There were only a few dim streetlights scattered around. To be honest, there was barely any sign of life or people, and I started walking, not entirely sure if I was even in the right place.After walking about a hundred meters, I passed through what looked like massive, fortress-like walls and stumbled right into the entrance of a hostel.It was an old building. By then, it was late enough, and I was completely exhausted. I walked inside and asked about the price and availability. It was incredibly cheap—a spot in a 4-bed female dormitory.I paid the fee, and the staff led me upstairs. The stairs were narrow, and the walls were peeling from the heavy moisture in the air. The guide knocked gently on the door and gestured for me to go inside.

There were two bunk beds in the room.In one, a girl who looked Asian sat with her head down, deeply focused on a book. In the other, a blonde girl was tracing routes on a map spread out in front of her.I managed a quick "Hello," they both smiled and greeted me back, and I immediately eyed the top bunk above the blonde girl. The room was tiny. I dropped my backpack in the corner, dug out one of my t-shirts from the top to sleep in, brushed my teeth, and changed.

I climbed up the bunk bed ladder and lay down.Realizing I was far too exhausted to make any actual plans, I decided that tomorrow morning would be the time to deal with the future. I buried my face into the pillow and fell into a deep, heavy sleep.

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