Facing the sun

by Seema Lalloo (South Africa)

I didn't expect to find Sri Lanka

'Now scream! Breathe in deeply and on your exhale scream into the sun. And then let it go. Let. It. Go’. And so I took in a deep breath of the salted air, pinched my eyes open into the glowing morning sun and screamed. In our 30s society deems we should have both a career and relationship in place. Yet at the age of 31, a negative response to a desperate, pre-airport Uber 'let's get back together' text had left me crying in the bathroom across from the boarding gate and a disastrous year at one of the most 'prestigious' post-MBA jobs, had left me with neither of the two. So I did what every self-respecting, unemployed woman does. I booked a trip to a remote Sri Lankan retreat with limited Wi-Fi to spend a week ruminating on the mess my life had become. The gauzy purple sunrise gently brightened into a light blue haze as the scenery gave way from undulating shades of green to silvery lagoons fringed with palm trees. I blearily willed the car to move faster so I could get to the retreat and cry into my pillow for the rest of the day. Arrival at the retreat, where I was met by Dee, the yoga teacher, had a different plan for me. Checking my shoes at the door, I stepped through the doors flanked by towering white walls into a coconut-oil scented sanctum presided over by a statue of Buddha, where social status, jobs and incomes ceased to matter. ‘I don’t care what you do, I don’t care where you’re from, I want to know who YOU are and why you’re here’ were Dee’s introductory words. I stared blankly at her. I guess I was a female. Dee didn’t care where I was from so nationality didn’t add anything more to say. ‘What makes you happy that isn’t related to career, friends or relationships?’ Once again, I stared blankly at her. Wasn’t figuring those things out the point of life? Accustomed to this reaction Dee proceeded more gently: ‘spend some time thinking about how you make yourself happy, be alone and own it. Interact with others but instead of focusing on externalities, get to know who they are. You’ll be surprised what you learn’. Dee guided our classes with no emphasis on achieving the most Instagrammable asanas, but rather on encouraging us to work through seemingly simple stretches which caused more jaw clenching than standing on your head. Her message was simple – if you can sit through the discomfort and calm your mind, you can learn to silence the outside world. Days followed a daily rhythm of meals served simply at a communal table, decorated only with fresh flowers and the chatter of fellow guests; showers were quick and most nights accompanied by Freddy the Frog; mosquitoes were impervious to military strength DEET; and sunrise and sunset yoga lessons were guided to the tune of monkeys shaking the leaves of the trees protecting the yoga shala. Afternoons were spent in encouraged reflection or quiet conversations watching spiders weave webs around the wooden pillars of the yoga shala before an errant lizard or squirrel chased them away. Each conversation was different but were weaved together by a common thread; everyone had come to escape some part of their reality but instead, like the mosquitoes we could not shake at night, we were being forced to confront reality head on. Our last sunset yoga was replaced by a sunset hike to a Buddhist temple. 600 sweaty stairs later we were perched in silence on the edge of a rock listening to the sounds of sunset. Dogs barked at the monkeys scurrying through the leaves to hide from eagles soaring through the burning sky and cicadas began their evening call to prayer. I felt the sun burn orange, and then red on my eyelids. I had come to Sri Lanka hoping to escape from my life, but instead I found the only thing I needed to escape from were my preconceived ideas. So this time I opened my eyes into the glowing sun, and instead of screaming, I smiled.