It has been two weeks since I got on the plane after a ride in a pink limo with a blindfold on. Secretly, I had an idea, because for a brief moment the blindfold was taken off at the tiny airport of the city where I was born. Only for coffee and a sandwich. And then I saw destinations on the boards. Barcelona. Palma de Mallorca. And: Ibiza. All amazing. But deep down, I hoped for the last one. The island of magic. The island I visited every year as a little girl. And the island where, at 14, I first danced on tables in Pacha with huge swipes of mascara and pink lip gloss. From then on, I think the tone was set...

The blindfold had to go back on and I shuffled onto the bus to the plane. The fellow passengers played along, at the friendly yet urgent request of the concierge (nickname: friend J who always arranges everything) and the pilot announced that the destination of the day would be Lapland...

The flight attendant had a gift for us: champagne. The second bottle of the day, and for me the chance to take a look at my fellow passengers. I saw Maan from The Voice, I saw Brace, and I saw Anita Meijer. This must be ‘The best singers of the Netherlands’, I thought. Is it really Ibiza? But friend MJ assured me that it was somewhere else this year. Could be, I thought. Then there was the book from friend M. Her new fling had written a little story in it and I read in the last sentence: ‘Have fun in Ibiza, dear.’

And from then on, it exploded. Everyone screaming. Everyone even more hysterical than we already were. And we all walked on clouds from then on. We started at the beach, went to Pacha, dined with Ruinart, ended up in the fairytale bay of Amante, drank wine, and more cava, sat in the sun, swam in the sea, went dancing with live music, turned the whole old town of Ibiza upside down, carried a fence through this city because this weekend ‘the fence was down’, ate at La Oliva, drank a glass with a setting sun at Sa Trinxa, and slept in the sun to sleep off the hangover. I could write a book about this weekend. It was a dream. Everything was literally a dream and even the emergency landing was just part of it. First a bit sulking, but then actually glad that we still had a moment for cava and a closing plate of Pata Negra...

I could write a book about this weekend, I have to say it again. But I especially cannot get over the intense love for the ladies who organized all of this. I have no brothers or sisters. I never missed that, until after my 25th. But that missing is now over. These women are family, they are the sisters I never had. I already knew that, but even after almost four years in New York and after a weekend like this, it is underlined with a thick glitter pen: friends are the family you choose. And god, how I love them. Forever and always in my heart.