There is something enchanting about the ocean: its voice – in the briny air that caresses your face – whispers to you, calls you, lulls you. You are a child of water, and here, looking at the wide expanse of blue-green, you know you have found home.
You rise with the waves, ride the high, and land with a giggle as the water crashes against the sand of the shore. You watch – fascinated, mesmerized – oblivious to the crowd around you.
Like Peter, you want to build your abode here; you never want to leave. The voices of your friends filter in through the tent you have built by the sea. You picture yourself in a house, with its patio open to the sea. Here, in that house, you feel at home, wrapped in the warmth of love – the love of the woman you love, the one who is thousands of kilometers away.
You lift your hands, spread them far apart, thrust your chest forward, throw your head backwards and close your eyes. The fading evening sun caresses your skin gently, warms your heart, as you listen to the waves – giggling and teasing each other as they chase themselves to where you stand, enveloping your ankles. Your feet sink into the sand and you feel like a tree rooted to earth.
You realize that here – right now – you do not feel afloat. Here, you finally get that feeling of being grounded, of belonging; you feel, for the first time, the desire to live. Here, you feel connected to Earth. You have finally found a place that has a space for you to be.
You want to scream, but you hold it. You are still aware of strange and familiar faces around you and the last thing you want to do is to allow anyone into the cozy bubble you have built around you. Instead, you dream: of mountains and heights; of being alone with nature; of throwing your head backwards and screaming till your voice is hoarse. You know you will feel better doing that.
You remember Kazaure, and the view from the top of the mountain that was your haven: plains stretching as far as the eyes – beige interspersed with green, broken in places by the silvery serpentine glow of tar, the evidence of civilization slowly eroding the beauty of nature.
You feel the pull of nostalgia, taking you back to the serenity you felt – several feet above the earth – in those moments when you were able to run away from people and reality; and you yearn for time to become a door through which you can walk through, back to that time when peace was only a climb away.
‘Baby, come and snap with me na, we are leaving’
Your world recedes slowly, and you are sucked back into the vortex of reality. You turn and realize that you are far removed from the rest, your feet buried deep in the ocean sand.
You smile, pull your legs up, one after the other, and walk towards the others. You feel, as you take the first step, like you have been uprooted, and that familiar feeling of being afloat returns.
‘Wait for me’ you say, not to the fair skinned, full figured woman standing in the middle of two other women, smiling at you, but to the ocean – its waves rising and waving at you.
You hear her in the wind,
‘I will always wait for you’
published in a slightly different form here