Page 52 - You Only Live Once [BooksLD]

After getting bored for about an hour, I finally find a way out. Actually,
not me, but the digital slave in me. Google is going to be my savior today. I
turn my smartphone on and search for the dumbest thing someone could

attempt.
How to spend time alone?
It is funny how Google gets back to me with search suggestions I never

thought could exist. It ranges from How to kiss? to How to lose weight? I
read a couple of blogs on How to spend time alone? to reach a conclusion.
Most of them suggested reading a book.

I move out and enter Cafe Helsinki, which is hardly five minutes of
walking from my hotel. I revel in the smell of coffee. There’s a bookshelf at
the other end of the cafe. I haven’t read a good book in quite some time and
didn’t even bring any with me! How pathetic. I am educated but have never
found good company in books.

A biography gets boring, a travel memoir seems fun, a love story upsets.
I decided to read some inspirational stuff. Yes. It should be in the
contemporary setting. I have no name. A book catches my attention,
enlisting the adventures of an Indian explorer—Ramy. It sounds familiar. I
pick the book without giving it a second thought.

This is going to be my very first solo date. I have always been to cafés
with either clients, friends, or my boyfriend. For the very first time, it is me,
just me.

After reading a couple of pages, I already feel a bit better. I do make sure
that I carry my diary everywhere I go as it offers me the luxury of writing
songs each day, and probably record my dream album someday.

I stay at the cafe until 4:30 p.m. Later, I march out onto the street, only to
discover Palolem Beach. The reception manager had insisted that I don’t
miss the sunset there, and more importantly I have to find Ricky’s Beach
Shack.
As I walk by the beach, I find the sea calm and serene. I befriend two

Israeli tourists and one of them turns out to be a photographer. I click their
pictures and they return the favor. Since my phone is off, they promise to
email them to me. They note down my email address.

As I walk further, I come across Siddhivinayak Art shop. A local
craftsman is seated there along with his mother, probably the artist of the
beautiful paintings on stone and postcards on display. I make sure that I buy