life's a beach

My childhood beach trips involved dozens of loud relatives, an old minivan with ripped leather seats, soggy pork rolls, homemade sticky rice, cold roast duck, an ugly second-hand op-shop swimsuit, a communal wet towel, more freckles, dirty public toilets, and sand everywhere... Needless to say, those were not fond memories, and I disliked the beach because it was chaotic and messy.

As I grew up, I held a grudge and sulked in the car while my friends made pit stops at different beach spots during our road trips. I wasn’t completely against the whole beach idea, since I enjoyed walking along the seashore at night when it was empty, clean, and peaceful, with only the sound of the ocean waves crashing.

Now, my children love the beach, so how could I possibly hate something that makes my family so incredibly happy?

talking to the moon

My earliest memory of ever missing anyone was when I was fifteen. It was my first boyfriend (using the title loosely here, since we only went out on one memorable date and saw each other three times during our forty-four days as a couple). So, of course, I missed him terribly when my family camped on Fraser Island during the school holidays.

While everyone snored rhythmically in their tents, I lay outside on the sand and stargazed. The single lopsided moon distracted me from the hundreds of stars twinkling in the lofty infinite sky. The sad thing about stars is, to the untrained eye, they’re identical and only beautiful in a cluster. The moon, however, is special, for it stands in solitude and looks over those who are equally lonely.

It was then that I realised how we could be anywhere in the world and still be looking at the same moon.

As a nostalgic person, I often reminisce and miss certain people. During those quiet moments, I wonder if they’re also gazing at the melancholy moon.

red

The complexity of human emotions is impossible for our simple minds to fully comprehend. When the emotional wheels start turning, the brain releases a host of chemicals, causing a series of fascinating reactions throughout our bodies and, in some almost magical way, deciding how we feel.

Thinking about someone who isn’t thinking about you is agonising. Missing someone whom you’re not entitled to miss is worse. It’s a mixture of embarrassment, vulnerability, and helplessness. It is a bittersweet sentiment where your heart and mind are in conflict. You’re stuck in a swirling black hole and supernova combination, exploding outward and pulling inward all at the same time.

Missing someone exposes us to loneliness and gives us time to appreciate them. We also learn independence as we navigate through darkness and experience emptiness, leading us to seek joy and peace from within ourselves. There is pain in the process, but also maturity from the grief and excitement in the growth. We will never finish growing because we are perpetually learning.

Sometimes you have to cut certain people out of your life because you don’t want the same things at the same time. You assume they don’t want all of you while hiding pieces of themselves. You quit playing their game because you don’t agree with their rules, knowing there are no winners in the end. You shut down and move on. At first, you miss them. Your heart aches for them and you spend every moment replaying the last time, the last kiss, the last hug, the last touch, the last smile. One day, a minute goes by when they’re not on your mind. The next day, it’s five or ten minutes. Over time, you notice that you haven’t thought about them in a whole week because life is full of people and distractions. After a few months, spanning years and over a decade of this, they’re just a tiny speck in your memory.

Then you discover something new about your history, and the missing puzzle pieces leave you flabbergasted as you stare at the complete picture. In an instant, that little speck explodes into a full-blown desire and all of those past feelings come rushing back. You realise just how much you've missed them. “Stop it,” you tell yourself as you try to block out the amatory flashbacks. It is unfair how an outdated confession can impact you, stir up intoxicated passion, and evoke awkward questions. Honesty is not always the best policy when there is no future. Unrequited love is for naive adolescents; I am far too insatiable and pedantic for such novelty.

silent conversation

Above anything, we all long to hear that satisfying click when pieces of ourselves and pieces of another person fit together and fall perfectly into place, like a space rocket docking smoothly into the astro station among trillions of twinkling stars.
 
Midnight chats that sliced into the guts of our adolescence and burned into my memory for eternity, prancing in their naivety and swimming in a pool of nostalgic infatuation. For the connection to hold, it has to be reciprocated. It has to comb through honest conversations that flow in both directions. To truly understand and be understood, we must break down the walls, sit up, and pay attention. You were the first to really know me. Between our banter, I occasionally let you ruffle my feathers to amuse your boyish humour.

Handholding, hair twirling, hearts racing. Warm hugs, French kisses, bodies intertwined. Never underestimate the element of physical touch. Discovering new grounds and exploring more firsts than I was ever ready for, I thought we were madly in love. In our juvenile hearts and young minds, we felt that we were qualified to test our desires, but in hindsight, the main drivers were just our raging hormones and undeniable chemistry. What makes a young “love” experience so powerful? A time when our hearts were still innocent and pure, and even long after that hot flame dies out, some warm embers remain to keep the memory aglow. An unfinished romance can linger for years, with certain stories left untold.

I dumped our past in the back pocket of my mind and cast us off as one of my biggest mistakes. I could not and would not revisit those feelings because you were not worthy of my time. When triggered, the buried memories rush back and I am overwhelmed by embarrassment as I am reminded of my fatal attraction to you. For so long, I convinced myself that you were not special, and what we shared was fleeting and superficial. I did that because I believed that was how you felt about me, too.

Until yesterday, when you unexpectedly shared with me what should have been said many moons ago. It would have saved me years of regret and resentment.

I guess this is what they call closure.