I am poolside at an impossibly posh resort, surrounded by an electric rainbow of bikinis, sarongs, and swimming trunks. Snippets of conversation float past me—Italian, Mandarin, French, and Spanish. The waitstaff weave in and out between cabanas, balancing trays of tropical cocktails, fresh cut fruit, and yuzu sorbet. I crunch on the pomegranate seeds floating in my drink and reach for a wedge of watermelon from the table beside me. It is ice cold and heavy with juice that drips down my wrists with every bite. I feel a tap on my shoulder and look up to see two giggling children. They are both eating an exotic fruit, something like a cross between a dragon fruit and star fruit. Lime yellow—almost neon. The taller of the two holds out a napkin to me. I try to thank them but they look at me more and more quizzically with every language that I try. Grazie, xièxie, merci, gracias. They giggle shyly and whisper to each other in a language I’ve never heard before. Where are you from? I ask, motioning with my hands as well. They point up at the sky, which suddenly changes from bright blue to pink. When I look back down they have already scampered off, leaving me with a dozen of their colorful fruit. I hold one up to the light and suddenly the whole world is awash in neon lime yellow.