I did not celebrate the European New Year this time.
On December 31, 2024, I was in the mountains of Northern Vietnam, where time seemed to move according to another rhythm. Months later, without planning it, I found myself entering yet another calendar — the Sinhala and Tamil New Year in Sri Lanka.
By then, I had already reached Tangalle, further along the island’s southern coast. India was already behind me. Or at least on the map. I was on the island, but the mind was still moving somewhere between trains, temples, conversations, and unfinished thoughts.
The New Year was coming quietly.
The day before, I met Claudia, an Austrian traveler who had also just arrived from India. She was staying with friends she had first met on the island more than a decade earlier — the same family from whom I was renting a small cottage. We spoke for hours, as if continuing a conversation that had begun long before Sri Lanka.
On the morning of April 13, after a beautiful breakfast, the owner of the house drove us to buy sweets and small things before the holiday celebrations began. Shops were slowly closing. Streets were emptying. The island seemed to decelerate all at once.
Afterwards, we asked to be dropped near a small beach.
It was my first day by a relatively calm ocean. We planned to swim and spend some quiet time near the water.
We settled at what felt like a safe distance from the shore and went into the ocean almost immediately. Swimming, however, was not easy. Even in its apparent calmness, the ocean carried an untamed force beneath the surface.
For a while, we sat under the shelter, talking animatedly and watching the play of the waves.
Then suddenly, I saw a wave moving toward us.
It did not seem different from the others — and yet, a second later, I realized it could actually reach us.
I barely had time to shout before the water swept over everything. Instinctively, I reached for my towel, but within moments we were caught inside a spinning rush of water and sand. My phone, camera, sandals — everything began drifting away. I remember watching objects slip from my hands while fragments of thoughts, fear, and confusion flashed through my mind with strange clarity.
Somehow, I managed to recover the phone and camera. Everything else disappeared almost instantly.
And then, just as suddenly, it was over.
The beach returned to its previous stillness, almost indifferent to what had happened.
At the time, I still believed it was only an accident.
Sri Lanka, however, was only beginning to reveal itself.