On the day of the 5th year since my father died, I wake up at dawn, and stepping out on to the beach I’m met by a cascade of rainbows over the horizon. Nature sympathises with me; we commemorate the beautiful and let be the ugly. That same day, on the way home from a late afternoon dive, our boat is commandeered by a school of manta rays, frolicking and flipping all around us in an incredible display. The sun dips low, but we fling ourselves headlong off the boat and into the water with these giant creatures, hoping to catch a prized glimpse. Here, there, now gone, now RIGHT HERE under the boat, we whoop and holler in crazy excitement at our sheer lucky LUCK to be part of this one-of-a-kind experience. Wait till the others hear about this, we shout, we high five, triumphant.
I only saw rainbows twice while living on the island. Once, on the day my dad died, and once more, on the day I stepped out on the beach with my backpack and belongings. Ready to leave, ready for anything, hand in hand with a new-found human.