The sun shines high above us. We’re engulfed in a thick layer of heat that is almost scorching but not quite. We can hear the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore just a few steps beneath us. The birds dance gleefully in the distance.

I grab my glass of Lychee Martini. It is cool to the touch, and perfect for a day like this. It has been awhile since I felt this lightness of being. And awhile since I chose Lychee Martinis over Smoky Whiskeys that taste like death as they slide down your throat.

Perhaps this is how it should be. Amnesia. There is no pain where there is no memory. Que Sera, Sera. There is a no disappointment where there is no ambition.

Or perhaps not. The clouds start to roll in. The skies turn grey in a matter of minutes and the clap of thunder awakens me from my reverie. The staff hastily folds up the daybeds and urges us to head indoors.

As we take shelter from the rain, Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being suddenly comes to mind and I remember that there was no happy ending.