I remember when I was a kid,
being able to take strolls by the beach,
making sand castles,
looking for seashells.
I remember the warmth of the sand beneath my feet and the way the wind would brush against my face. There was something about being there that made everything feel slower, as if the world had nowhere else to be.
These fleeting moments were so precious.
I hadn't known they mattered in my upbringing as a person.
There were times that I would hear the sounds of the ocean in my head,
feel the tug and pull of ocean waves on my skin.
Sometimes, even when I was nowhere near the sea, I could still close my eyes and remember it. The sound of the waves coming toward me, then retreating, as though the ocean itself was breathing.
These were the moments I wanted to last the most.
But nothing good lasts forever, I suppose.
When I grew up, life became so fast. I was able to finish university and was now trying to find work in the bustling city.
Everything seemed to move at a speed I couldn't keep up with. People were always rushing somewhere, cars were always passing, phones were always ringing, and there was never a true moment of silence.
The noise pollution was agitating me.
It wasn't relaxing; it was just filled with toxicity.
I missed the kind of silence that didn't feel empty. The kind where you could hear your own thoughts without having to fight through the noise of everyone else's lives.
I really wished that life could be as simple as buying groceries, spending an entire day off alone in my apartment, watching an entire series in one sitting.
Maybe that was all I wanted—not something extraordinary, but something quiet. Something that didn't ask anything from me.
Until one day, I stumbled upon a go-to beach.
And suddenly, memories of my childhood came rushing in like a tidal wave.
It wasn't just the beach I remembered. It was the person I used to be when I was there.
My hands were shaking as I really wanted to go. So I looked for a place that matched the same vibe and setting, until I stumbled upon a house that reminded me of the home I grew up in.
There was something strangely familiar about it. I couldn't explain it at first, but something inside me kept saying, this feels like home.
I secured my itinerary and went to the property.
Upon entering the home,
I was speechless.
I even wanted to burst into tears.
I could never have imagined that a house so similar to the one I grew up in would be something I actually got to stay in during my time in that area.
For a moment, I stood there remembering things I hadn't thought about in years. The kind of memories you don't realize you've buried until something brings them back to the surface.
I never hesitated for a moment and made sure that I took my time there fully.
I didn't rush. I didn't try to fill every hour with something to do. I simply allowed myself to exist there, surrounded by something that felt familiar.
I guess you could say I lost a piece of me growing up.
Growing up is hard.
Life is hard.
It was never a choice that I got to say yes or no to.
You would just be slapped onto life, like an uncertain roller coaster with no idea whether you will go up, down, or eventually come to an immediate stop.
And somehow, somewhere along the way, you learn how to keep moving even when you don't know where you're going.
I know my upbringing wasn't perfect because it feels like I was always pursuing greatness and luxury.
I was always looking ahead. Always wanting more. Always believing that happiness was somewhere further down the road.
That I eventually forgot a cherished part of me.
Something so small,
but something that mattered most of all.
It wasn't wealth.
It wasn't success.
It wasn't even the things I thought I needed to become someone.
It was the feeling of being a child by the ocean, with nothing to prove and nowhere else to be.
And maybe that's what growing up really does to us. We spend so much time trying to become someone that we forget who we already were.
I hope that when you're reading this,
you won't ever forget that one piece of you.
The piece that made you smile before you understood what happiness was.
The piece that found joy in the simplest things.
The piece that will eventually make you whole.