16 March, 2025
For the longest time, I have wondered what it takes to be a woman of action. I have questioned what separates the ones who think about things from the ones who actually do them. I’ve always envied the latter — those who dive in, who leap even when they’re scared. And then, one day, I realized that no one is born that way. They decide, push through the fear, and do it anyway.
That’s when I decided to go on a solo trip—a real one. It was not a half-hearted attempt, not a plan I would abandon midway. I was going to book a flight, find a hotel, make an itinerary, and see it through alone.
And I was fucking terrified.
The moment I made the decision, fear set in. What if I backed out, something went wrong, I got lost, felt unsafe, or couldn’t handle the solitude?
Each step felt like a mountain. Booking the flight? Scary. Reserving the hotel? Even scarier. I researched every possible place, pored over reviews, cross-checked distances, and still, I was convinced I’d mess something up.
I spent hours crafting an itinerary, doubting myself with every addition and deletion. Finally, I found myself at the airport, boarding the flight to Goa.
I was travelling alone, and a solo trip as a woman in India was a huge fucking deal!
When I landed, the fear was louder than ever. The unfamiliarity of it all was overwhelming. I kept my brother on the phone while my taxi driver took me to the hotel, just in case, just in case of what, I didn’t know. That first night in the hotel, I barely slept. I woke up again and again, haunted by the reality of being completely alone in a place I had never been before.
So, I distracted myself. I planned my next day down to the tiniest detail. I downloaded offline maps just in case my internet failed me. And, in a moment of desperation, I masturbated three times to calm myself down. After that, I finally managed to sleep.
The next morning brought a new challenge—renting a scooter. Foolishly, I had forgotten to bring my license, so that plan crashed before it even began. I had no choice but to adapt. I hired a taxi for the day instead and set off.
My first stop was a bookstore café. I wandered around the cafe- a seating area on the outside and three rooms in the inner area filled with books and huge artworks! God! It instantly became my absolute favourite place.
The host was so sweet and nice; he told me I could even take a book home when I asked if I could mark on it because the author had donated six boxes to the café. I sat there for a couple of hours, reading, sipping on a refreshing watermelon-cucumber gin fizz, and savouring a fruit salad.
Then I moved on to another café, where I had homemade bread with the tastiest dips, a fresh salad, and another gin cocktail.
Watching the blue waves crash and lap over one another, another moment of realization: I was doing it. I was actually doing it.
The evening was spent at the beach, sipping beer and watching the sun sink into the horizon. A persistent, greedy auntie convinced me to get a foot and back massage. She mooched ten times more money off me than it was worth, but at that moment, I didn’t care. I let her win; I was happy, relaxed, and satisfied.
I returned to the hotel that night feeling different. Lighter. Proud. The fear had not disappeared, but I had done it anyway.
That, I think, is what it means to be a woman of action.
