The oven, otherwise known as summer, roasted me to a near crisp. It was an especially hot one that day. Blazing sunlight showered around my gaze as sweat trickled down my forehead. I huffed and puffed. Only one thing could save me from dying of the heat in a way none other could, a trip to the beach.
So here we were, my family and I, standing in front of the ocean with the crashing – but gorgeous and equally majestic – waves awaiting us. White-yellow sand, emerald mountains and boats with sails that waved hello to me. I could suddenly see all the way to the other side of the sparkly blue water, like I could do anything, the other coast was the limit. There was no turning back. This day was mine to treasure.
I let my towel go and leapt into the freezing and intimidating, but refreshing monsters constructed of several – no, millions – of different droplets of water, that towered over and swallowed the eleven year-old me. And after, I’d get up, and prepare for another round. The sensation was surreal, but it was real, so real I can still remember it today.
There really is nothing better than embracing the ocean on a hot summer day.