A beach resort sounded something luxurious and fun. Maybe it’s the beach that immediately shows you the sandy shores and the waves tickling at your feet shoved right into your eyes. Or the resort that immediately associates itself with luxury, a word drilled to spark anyone’s wildest fancies. And how can luxury and fun not go hand in hand?

It should be a sunny day full of smiles, that a beach resort meant only vacation, a mere activity meant for relaxation.

It was raining when I had run off, the words bouncing over my head and the buzz drowning out anything that could tell me otherwise. My feet didn’t care where they were going, as long as it was away. My eyes were glad for the rain, tears and water mixed all around.

It wasn’t a big place, and my eyes can still see for my brain to absorb, subconsciously moving my feet amidst my noisy thoughts until I found myself near the ocean. For a moment I stared, that the rain mixed with the sea left the waves crashing down the sand more, harshly pulling back.

It sure didn’t make an ideal beach walk. Other than the rain’s inconvenience to the body, it’s own inconveniece to the beach would deter anyone’s plans for a beach walk.

In the rain, there was not much out and about preferring to venture indoors and enjoy the luxury any resort would provide no matter the weather. And yet standing too long out in the open, rain gently caressing my body as I stare almost longingly to the crashing waves was not something I want anyone to stumble, anyone to draw their conclusions to.

There was an open bar, roofed over and yet windowless with only a gate for a door that allows the fresh salty air and the roar of the sea to continue my longing stare. The voices that spurred me outside slightly dimmed, if only because I was contemplating much worse in a paradoxical way to calm myself down.

I didn’t want to remember what was shouted to me. I didn’t want to confront my own roaring waves in my heart that are drowning everything else. Instead, the actual roaring waves capable of drowning all of me was something I rather confront.

Overlapping waves, a step on the beach. The pull into the depths.

Luckily I was a coward. Fearful. About the finality. About the risk and losses and what cannot be fixed. Get pulled into the depths, fight for your life and yet ‘too late’. You can pull yourself together from your ‘too late’s as long as you are alive.

I was broken out of such musings when my father came to fetch me, wondering about my own surprise when such reckless action on my part would spur worry and such action based on it. He fussed, I said nothing. He scolded for peace, I just got up. He pretends everything would be fine on the way back, I choose to remember the waves.

I didn’t think much about it afterwards, until like any other event, all it takes is a reminder to bring it all back.

***

The waves felt like an escape, the ocean a calm facade until thrown in and seeing the ripples. It simply recovers quickly enough to keep up the facade after the disturbance. Such a peaceful idea.

That was the thought worming its way into my mind, years later from that momentary bout of recklessness. Like everyone else, I live where the years bring forth new obstacles defined by age that let growing up feel like a constant challenge.

A challenge that brings forth inevitable failures, gritted teeth and fleeting success. Where weakness, harsh words and closed eyes to the idea of a better one day feels less proven by the day when life is incredibly difficult. And how could anything be better when life is stated not to be easy?

I was supposed to be celebrating today, venturing forth from the vacation years ago to continue on the life milestones that cultural beliefs would not let go. It was supposed to be my graduation, a ceremony concluded with formalities that didn’t hide away what goes on beyond them.

It does not hide the ever-changing trend in uprising competition to earn money that ought to be a right for at least the minimum livelihood. It does not hide away the lack of guarantees that cultural beliefs assured for a non-existant one day. It does not hide the sold hopes and dreams for moments that do not extend to a forever that matters.

It was vindictive, but I did not forget that vacation. I also did not forget any other pettiness and slights henceforth. I grew up, I reflected, I learned. Not just in a positive light. Not with a blind eye to the faults. Not being able to tamper down the rising feeling of pressure.

Wouldn’t the waves pressure you too, if you make the leap? Aren’t you being just too dramatic?

At yet another low point, where my tears have learned to not fall beyond my eyes and my body learned to tamp down any immediate flight response, I walked out of the building after changing out of my robes where my feet reached near the port sighted easily from the venue. I walked a ways, not wanting to be spotted by anyone I know.

I didn’t let my family know where I’m headed, seeking out this peace and quiet. I was nearer to the ocean more than ever with suspended bridges not having any rails to prevent a shove, a fall and…

All those years, I’m still a coward. Finality rightfully scares me. I can turn back from a lot of things but not from that.

It didn’t stop my thinking in my worst moments, the recklessness in crossing a road and a car a little too near. The low nights to spot a glint of the knife and tensing at the rustling bushes. I could already hear even more people asking whether I’m being too dramatic.

I walked away from the frightening drop, contenting myself to the still ocean with only a few laps from who knows where and yet again only think that brought forth yet another memory.

At time forgotten, I dreamt about the sea. It was at the same beach resort, with a cliff as the waves kept racking up. I was climbing, away from certain finality. A hand was reaching out to me, but the waves claimed me first. It was a drop, free falling and not painful and then-

Like any other dream, I woke up to the sound of the similar waves and this time there was no one else to disrupt me. The ocean has no cliff, only a drop. It was not a place to re-enact a dream but it made me wonder about coincidences, about thrice noted.

It made me wonder about dreams remembered for this long, about a hard life and gentle ocean. About a thought never escaping.

I can still be fearful, but for how long? Or would I not be given a choice? When a dream commences unavoidable deja-vu? Would it be a relief or?

I took out my phone, aware that I cannot worry my family too long. I took one look back to the ocean, struck by the similar waves and the calming waters. No matter where, they are all the same, huh?

It was a thought niggling at my brain but without meaning when I resumed life. When will be the next time the ocean calls to me, I can now wonder?

Writer’s Notes

Some stories don’t really have much beginnings and endings, much as life has never been on the straight and narrow. ‘Tis was an idea that just struck me from my own inspirations and experiences letting me process through it a moment. I wonder what it would mean writing something like this, and what would be thought reading back to it. A certain sense of peace, relief? A moment stuck in time? Who knows?