The cyclone arrived sooner than expected.

I knew the moment a loud crash tore me from my sleep at midnight. A BOOM!, followed by the aggressive lull of the wind and millions of raindrops hammering against my window. I opened the door, and there it was. Its branches and leaves blocked the view beyond the balcony.

That fallen tree in front of my house quickly pulled me into an undeniable reality: the cyclone we had been warned about was real, and it was getting closer. And with it, so was my departure from the island. This was, quite literally, my wake up call.

This wasn’t the first time we’d been alerted about a cyclone. But until that night, I still held onto the hope that it would all turn out to be a false alarm—at worst, just a few gray, rainy days. Just like the previous times.

I should've been honest with myself and accepted the state of things with the early, tell-tale signs: the ferry cancellations, and the resort slowly emptying of guests until only staff remained, along with my two friends who had come to visit and found themselves stranded by the storm.

Three days later, we were evacuated from the island—and I had to say goodbye to forever. Leaving so suddenly, a full week earlier than planned, was never part of my plan. Over the past few years, I’ve left many places behind, but always with the certainty that it was the right time to go. The idea of closing this chapter had already been weighing on me—the looming end of my visa in Australia had been stirring up grief and anxiety. Being forced to leave even earlier than expected felt like a bucket of ice water suddenly being poured all over me.

Goodbyes are never easy, but they’re even harder when we don’t feel ready for them. Strangely enough, and contrary to what I had anticipated, my sudden departure ended up making letting go easier. The shift in energy and routines with the storm naturally redirected my focus beyond the island.

On Thursday, we were evacuated through the barge that supplies the island, taking advantage of its run to bring provisions to those remaining. Due to its larger size and steadiness, this was our only feasible option for crossing the rough sea back to the mainland. Six hours later, we reached solid ground. After another seven hours on the road overnight, I woke up in Brisbane, at my friend’s house, as if everything had been a fever dream—as if my life on the island had never happened.

I’m still processing it all. At some point in this newsletter, I’ve mentioned the Spanish saying that "reality surpasses fiction". This isn’t the first time life has thrown me unexpected plot twists and resolutions worthy of a movie script. It can be disorienting and surreal—but also magical.

What I take from this (and what I want to share with you) is a reminder that life doesn’t follow our plans or expectations, no matter how much it seems like it does. That sometimes, the wind changes course, and we have no choice but to change direction. I’ve learned that we don’t always have as much time as we’d like, and for that reason, it’s best not to take things for granted or assume that tomorrow is guaranteed. We have to live each day and each moment as if it were our last. And I’ve learned that when things don’t go as planned, the best thing to do is not to fight against the current, but to flow, to find joy—or at the very least, to learn from whatever life puts in front of us. Once again, I realise that what first seems like a setback or a loss often ends up being a blessing in disguise.

As for closing chapters and letting go, I’m still learning what it means to do so with grace. What I know for now is that change (even when it’s sudden and unwelcome) carries its own quiet intelligence. Leaving the island earlier than planned forced me to release the illusion of control, to stop bargaining with timelines, and to trust that not all endings need to be understood immediately. Some simply need to be lived through.

For now, I’m choosing to embrace the renewed energy that a change of scenery brings: to stay open, curious, and receptive to what comes next. To let the wind carry me forward, even when I don’t yet know where I’ll land.

I hope this helps.

Love,

Gaby