Finding Myself in Curaçao – A Journey I Didn’t Know I Needed

I booked Curaçao without telling anyone at first. I had spent months saying I was fine, pushing through days that drained me, pretending my body wasn’t begging for rest. When I finally clicked “confirm booking,” it felt like choosing myself after a very long time of choosing everything else. The flight from New York was quiet enough that I could think, and thinking was both a relief and a risk. I watched clouds in the window and wondered what version of me might return home.

The heat hit me in the most comforting way when I stepped onto the island. I stayed at a small boutique hotel near Pietermaai — colourful buildings, friendly staff, the kind of place where breakfast isn’t fancy but it comes with a genuine smile. My first meal was keshi yena, and I still think about how good it tasted because food somehow feels deeper when you are tired and finally safe.

I spent days wandering Wilmstad’s streets, taking photos of the bright Dutch architecture and swimming at Mambo Beach until my fingers wrinkled. One random moment I didn’t plan: I joined a group of strangers for beach volleyball. I didn’t know anyone, and I wasn’t good, but we laughed hard enough to forget the score, and it felt like belonging without effort.

The moment that melted something inside me came when I snorkelled near Tugboat Beach. Floating above bright fish and a sunken wreck, I realised how loud my life had become and how silent my joy had been. I didn’t cry, but I could have. It was the first time in a long time I wasn’t bracing for the next problem.

Coming home didn’t magically fix things, but Curaçao gave me proof that peace wasn’t a fantasy — it was a choice.
— Daniel Foster