(Written on 11 August 2010)
Standing in the middle of the sea of sand, gazing at the shimmering surface of the sea, guiding the sunrays onto the shore, as we strain our eyes, as if to abate the sting in the eyes, or are we trying to capture the mirage flickering at the far end of the other side of the sea? Perhaps the more we look at it, the more convinced we become about the ignis fatuus of hope quivering at the end of the rope, bobbling at the tip of the waves in the horizon. Light, the harbinger of hope, in abundance at the open beach, right under the Sun. Heat cascades cats and dogs upon the white grainy sand, and upon the slightest combination of generated heat wave and pounding sea wave, a crack of sizzling sound is fabricated from the pores of the sandy ground. Fabricated, because the sizzling sound lasts for a mere split-second, the split second where it glides past the ear.
I stood on the floor of sand, which starts to sink beneath my feet as the seawater hits the coast and drags itself back into the sea. The earth beneath me seems to fall apart as I gripped the sand with my toes. The backpeddling seawater clings onto the surface but to no avail as it gets swept back down. The next wave comes along, crashing and burning as it pounds relentlessly onto the sea of crying sand. My heart pounds in synchrony with the rhythmic wave pattern, as a sense of excitement starts to bloom as of every beginning of an imminent long vacation.
As I shift my eyes across the horizon, silhouettes of wind-surfers, groups of people congregating in the middle of the sea, come into sight. All of them with the hands held high, seem to cheer at the arrival of the long-awaited summer, the long-awaited vacation. The waves come clattering one after another, swallowing the guys and wrapping the girls, but each time, their heads pop out a few seconds later, as they elongate their neecks to grasp for fresh air.
The blueness in the sky is reflected on the wet glistening sandy beach as each time the waves hops onto the shore and gliding back down, the reflection of the sky gets clearer.
I smile at the irony of the conflict between the waves and the shore, as the conflict creates a clearer, more beautiful image of the sky that overlooks them.