There was something magical about that night in Goa. The music pulled us away from reality and into a world of pure freedom. As the techno beats echoed through the air, we let go of our usual selves and embraced the moment completely.

Covered in colorful face paint and temporary tattoos, we felt like different people—free, fearless, and fully present. The lights danced around us, the bass vibrated through our bodies, and for a few hours, nothing else mattered.

One of the most unforgettable moments was stepping into a room filled with intense heat. The warmth wrapped around us instantly, making the experience feel almost surreal. It was like entering another dimension—sweaty, overwhelming, and strangely calming at the same time. We laughed, reflected, and simply absorbed the energy of the moment.

The night wasn't just about music; it was about connection, freedom, and creating memories that will stay with us long after the festival ended. Goa gave us more than a party—it gave us a story, a feeling, and a reminder to live fully in the present.

The cenote itself was beautiful—clear freshwater, a central platform, and exactly the kind of place people come to photograph. We weren't planning to stay long.

Before entering, everyone has to shower. I'd already done that, but because it was raining and I was completely soaked, the staff thought I'd just come from the bathroom and skipped the shower entirely.

So I had to do it again.

I walked back to the open showers, soaped up in the rain, rinsed off, and returned. Only then did they hand me the life jacket and let me in.

The cenote wasn't the most spectacular one I've visited, but that's not what I remember. What I remember is standing in the rain, proving to a stranger that I had, in fact, taken a shower.

We took a train to see the Leaning Tower of Pisa, which, if I'm being honest, was exactly what was advertised: a tower that leans.

The real reason I enjoyed the trip was that I had recently bought a DSLR and spent most of the day experimenting with it. My sister and I took turns photographing each other from every possible angle. By the time we were done, we had far more photos than memories of the tower itself.

The problem came later.

After sunset, our phones were nearly dead. Mine was hanging on at around 3%, and we still had to get back to the hostel. I suggested getting a cab, but my sister was determined not to waste money on one.

So we walked.

The route felt endless. The streets were empty, the road was dark, and every time I checked the battery percentage I became a little more nervous. We were relying on the last few percent of an aging iPhone to get us home.

Luckily, those final percent were enough. We made it back safely.

The next day we found ourselves in a similar situation. This time, I didn't argue.

We took the cab.

For my 30th birthday, I wasn't sure what to do. A couple of weeks earlier, I had travelled to Sri Lanka to celebrate my dad's birthday with my family. Going back again wasn't really practical, and I didn't feel like organising a big party. Most of my friends don't celebrate birthdays anyway, so I decided to do something for myself.

A few days before my birthday, I booked a spontaneous trip to Zakynthos in Greece.

The funny thing is that Zakynthos had been in my life for much longer than I realised. Growing up, one of the wallpapers on our old Windows computer showed the famous Shipwreck Beach viewpoint. We used to call it the "crocodile mountain" because of its shape. I didn't even know it was in Greece until years later when I saw the same picture during a family trip there.

When I arrived, the island was quiet because it was October. The next day, I joined a tour and finally stood at that exact viewpoint. Flying my drone above the crystal blue water and the shipwreck felt surreal. It felt like I had stepped into a childhood memory.

The trip ended with a thunderstorm, a great meal, unexpected conversations with fellow travellers, and one of the best nights of sleep I can remember. Looking back, it was the perfect way to turn 30.