Blue is the warmest colour
A week ago, I celebrated my birthday. The week before that, I graduated—royal blue robes draped over my shoulders, cap balanced on my head, the weight of the moment pressing into my chest. If you had told me then that 2 weeks later, I’d be standing in the Maldives, surrounded by royal blues, turquoise blues, and every impossible shade of blue in between, I would have laughed. But here I was, boarding a flight to Male, unknowingly stepping into a dream.
The journey to Male was a blur of time zones and shifting skies. The Maldives, a nation of nearly 1,200 coral islands, scattered across the Indian Ocean like pearls, is as remote as it is mesmerizing. Male, the country’s capital, is unlike anywhere else—a dense, colourful city rising from the sea, where mosques gleam under the sun and the scent of the ocean lingers on every street. Historically, it has been the heart of Maldivian trade and governance, a meeting point of cultures and influences, from ancient Arab seafarers to Portuguese invaders, all leaving their mark on this low-lying, water-bound world.
The next morning, the adventure truly began—a boat ride across waters so clear they looked painted. It was blue gatorade. An ocean of it. The sky stretched endlessly, the sea swallowing us whole as we headed for Thulhagiri Island, our tiny slice of paradise. A mere fifteen-minute walk around its entirety, Thulhagiri felt like a secret—a pocket of white sand, wooden bungalows perched over the sea, and nothing but the sound of waves and distant seabirds. I had my own overwater bungalow, perched above an endless blue expanse, and with no cell reception or WiFi except for one particular spot on the main island, I danced to Justin Timberlake as tiger sharks circled my new little home.
I have known many kinds of quiet, but never one like this. Out here, where the ocean stretched into forever and the sand melted beneath my feet, I felt like I had arrived—if not in heaven, then at least on its first or third level. There was something surreal about being so far removed from the rest of the world, with only the sea as company, the horizon blurring into the sky until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. In the distance some evenings dark stormclouds settled on the horizon, and in the morning the sun was soft and it was pink and orange pastels.
The Maldivian people, warm and deeply connected to the rhythm of the ocean, welcomed with open hands and easy smiles. Their culture, shaped by the sea, is one of resilience and hospitality, where fishing and boat-making traditions have been passed down for generations. The best thing to eat? Mas huni—tuna, coconut, chili, and lime, mixed into something so simple yet impossibly perfect, served with warm roshi flatbread. And the coconuts—sweet, fresh, endless! Ugh… where are they now?
I could live here forever, wrapped in sun-kissed skin, barefoot in the sand, drinking coconut water straight from the husk. I could easily exist in a bathing suit for a few years, letting the tide decide my days before ever returning to the real world. I’ve graduated, I’ve done my part, that’s enough isn’t it? Alas, for now, I let myself sink back into the endless blue of my memories and daydreams. knowing that some places are not just visited—they are felt, they are lived, and they stay with you long after you leave. And blue suddenly becomes the warmest colour you can imagine.
Just as I arrived, I left—the boat slicing through the morning stillness, the plane lifting off over a scattering of cerulean islands, another plane soaring higher until it all faded below me, the blues dissolving into the clouds. Each step in reverse, each glimpse of the Maldives growing smaller, felt like leaving a magical Neverland.
