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Sun glasses? Check. Sun lotion? Check. Camera? Check. I stuffed everything into my satchel and hurried off to breakfast. Today’s going to be awesome, I thought as I stumbled upon a piece of black fabric at the bottom of the stairs almost knocking off the 10 inch statue of cupid. Close.
Midway through the corridor, the angel statue at the corner of one room floated towards me.
“Hey.” I greeted it warmly with calm etiquette and a massive smile.
“Don’t go,” it whispered.
An angel asking me not to go to the beach? Is it warning me about some huge event that might take place later in the day that I may regret ever going? Should I listen?
“Nice try.” I mumbled shrugging the angel aside and darting towards the dining room, barely colliding with the razor-edged spear pointed towards my head at the sharp corner.
I shouldn’t have eaten 2 packs of haribo sweets and drank a gallon of fizzy soda the night before as I could’ve sworn there was a chill in the air and a sound of an evil chuckle at all edges of the room. I’m going nuts.
I’ve been waiting for this moment ever since arriving in Phuket. Father received an invite from his boss to stay at his home just a few months ago and we accepted immediately. I wouldn’t call it a home, more like a stunning private mansion with vintage style furniture, walls that seem to test the sky’s limit and a pool at the side of the house overlooking the Indian Ocean. Nothing’s going to ruin my day, just hours of sun, sand and occasional flashes of the lifeguard’s abs. What’s the worst that can happen?
“We’re not going to the beach.” Great.
“Why not?” I pouted and folded my arms to extreme exaggeration, hopefully persuading mother to see the error in her statement (I was 9).
“Your father’s friend has invited us to his yacht today. Now go eat your breakfast.”
Suddenly the windows started to quiver, then the furniture started to tremble. A vulture soared into the room from the open door and landed on my left shoulder.
“Go to the beach, go to the beach.” It screeched.
“Go away,” I breathed, “Mother can hear you.”
As quickly as the minor earthquake entered, it disappeared. So did the vulture and the bad luck I’ve been having all morning.
After hours on the yacht and a few barbecue sticks later, we arrived at the haven sun burnt and satisfied, only to be greeted by father’s boss.
“Good thing you didn’t go the beach.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You would not believe.”

Date: December 26th 2004.
Event: Boxing Day Tsunami.
Earthquake felt during breakfast: 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake.