It’s strange how a place can make you feel both incredibly small and absolutely infinite at the same time.
I was standing at the southernmost tip of the Maldives, where the island of Gan stretches into the deep blue of the Indian Ocean. Behind me, life was humming along. Scooters buzzing past, a fisherman gutting his morning catch, the salty scent of the lagoon carried on the breeze. In front of me, nothing but endless water. No more islands, no more people. Just the horizon folding into itself.
I’d read about this place before coming, but reading and feeling are two different things. When I finally stood there, camera in hand, I felt like I’d reached the edge of a map. There’s something poetic about knowing every single speck of land in this country lies behind you. You’re looking out into an expanse that connects continents, trade routes, and ancient stories of seafarers.
I set up my phone for a selfie. The sign marking “Southernmost Point of the Maldives” just visible in the frame and I couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t a grin for Instagram; it was the quiet kind you make when you realise you’ve ticked off a life moment you didn’t even know you were chasing.
As I sat on a rock, the waves lapping lazily below, a local man wandered over and pointed far into the distance, telling me that if I kept sailing straight, the next big land I’d hit would be somewhere near Antarctica’s shipping lanes. “After this, only sea,” he said, laughing. I laughed too, but in my chest I felt a strange rush, that heady mix of freedom and insignificance that only the edge of the world can give you.
The sun dipped lower, turning the water into molten gold. I took one last look, one last breath of that salted air, and started walking back. The world felt bigger… and I felt braver for having touched its edge.