I don’t like summer. I fail to see why others love it so much. The sun bites; the heat is oppressive. I don’t like to sweat. I am not a fan of the beach, the sand, having to take eleventy billion snacks and drinks. Because children. I loathe sunscreen. Again, because children. I don’t do bathers, unless the likelihood of bumping into someone who knows me is nil. The flies, oooeeemgeeee, don’t get me started on the flies. There is no relief in summer, except the air-conditioning unit. I call it my friend and I try never to leave its cooling flow.
If you know me, you’re probably rolling your eyes already, thinking to yourself, ‘Gawd, is she still whingeing about summer?’ If you don’t know me, you are most likely thinking, ‘Wow, she sounds fun!’ I admit, it’s a negative, whining start. If you are still reading, thanks for sticking with me.
What I do love about the beach is the waves. Like flames, I find waves mesmerising. I can watch the waves crash onto the land all day long (as long as that particular day is not hot. Hahaha, sorry, I HAD to add that). As the waves undulate I am reminded that there is more to the world than my own little corner. I gaze towards the horizon and wonder who is out there, way over the other side, as the waves rock back and forth on the beach there, too. I see ships sailing away, and I dream of the life of a seafarer, crammed inside those teeny berths. I imagine a storm, out there in the wide expanse, and feel fear, visualising giant waves crashing mercilessly on the deck.
Mostly though, as I let myself drift into the rhythm of the waves, mesmerised by the constant rise and fall, I remember that whatever irks me will wash away. Watching the waves, I am small, my own worries shrink to the size of raisins. Like the sand, I will be left smooth and calm, ready to begin again.