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 missing someone was when I was fifteen. It was my first boyfriend (I use the title loosely, 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, stargazing. The single lopsided moon distracted me from the hundreds of stars twinkling in the vast, infinite sky. The sad thing about stars is that, to the untrained eye, they’re identical and only beautiful in a cluster. The moon, however, is special - it stands in solitude and looks over those who are equally lonely. It was then that I realised 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.

don’t cry over spilled milk

When I bought my first car in 2002, my best friend gifted me a bubblegum-scented car freshener. It was such a happy fragrance. We loved the smell and were disappointed when the brand was discontinued. For 16 years, I checked every auto spare shop I came across in search of that sweet scent, but to no avail. Until today, when I accidentally spilled my drink in the car and had to rush to the nearest car wash for a cleaning.

I was in a foul mood by the time I got to the counter, and then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it hanging on the stand next to the till. My day instantly got a whole lot better. To be honest, it doesn’t smell as good as I remember, and it’s starting to give me a headache (I must be getting old), but my first thought was how happy Caz would have been if she knew I had found our fragrance again.

write where I belong

I have been writing, more or less, all my life, mostly in private, and more poorly than well. Somewhere within the woven canvas of my mind, writing has always been what I loved to do since childhood.

I remember being praised for my work and invited to read my stories aloud to the class. My English teachers kept my short pieces as samples for future students, a faint glow of recognition.

Along the way, I got distracted and didn’t pursue this love. Instead, I wandered through life, jumping from one job to another. I forgot how to write beyond waffling text messages, mediocre social media captions, and epic emails that went nowhere. Despite countless observations and stories in my head pleading to be drafted, I couldn’t do it. It felt like work, and it was hard. I didn’t like hard.

Yet, the joy of writing never really waned. The urge to string words together and unfold a story in my mind for the simple pleasure of creating something from nothing is still burning. Using my words to reach out, connect, and spark another person’s curiosity is what I love most about writing.