While I was posting the piece on Texas beaches, I thought about why I keep going back to the shore and why I insist of bringing Faye and the kids to the water’s edge. It wasn’t a mystery, really. It wasn’t some subconscious longing for some unremembered memory. I knew the beach for me meant family. My family and I had spent many holiday trips to the beach – Batangas to La Union to Cebu. We had a lot of fun frolicking along the sand. It was a good feeling to be with people you feel brave with amid this vast expanse of power. It was a good feeling to be with people that provide meaning amid this unrelenting waves of nothingness.
I remember going back to a beach of my childhood in La Union and I was surprised to see that it wasn’t the beach I remember anymore. The shore wasn’t as wide as I remember it and the sand wasn’t as soft. Do you have a beach from your childhood that you remember? Have you been back lately? How has it changed? If you haven’t been back, can you still picture it clearly? Did it have any significance to you back then? Does it now?
