Swept By the Tide
The water was cold and unforgiving against my skin. The night breeze made it worse and I found my teeth chattering and goose bumps started to form all over my body. I was drowning deeper, and deeper into the water and it seemed as if the harder I fight, arms and legs kicking frantically, the deeper I fall into the heart of the ocean. Then, I saw her. It was as if I was staring at a reflection of myself. She had the same almond-shaped eyes, and curly hair that floated around her like a halo. I realize that I was staring at my four-year old self. She waved goodbye and when I reached out for her hand, I felt someone lift me up and out of the freezing ocean. And that was when I woke up.
It was three a.m. I was sweating copiously and shivering under my duvet in the wee hours of the morning. I had that dream again. The one that leaves me breathless and needing huge gulps of air as I felt my lungs would collapse if I did not. I felt emptiness nesting within me as I always have felt all my life. Something was missing and it kills me that I do not know what it is. I suddenly feel that the walls of the room were closing up on me, drowning me of oxygen. I slipped into my Nike sport shoes and headed out the door without a second glance.
There was a full moon and that illuminated my jogging track. The neighborhood was still, all of its residents sleeping peacefully without tossing and turning, unlike me. When I reached the beach, I felt calm and slightly terrified at the same time. The beach reminded me of something that I could not put a finger on and that was what terrifies me. Because I could feel that something important had happened here. Something that was certainly not what you would want to reminisce about. However, the beach also steadied my heartbeat and made me feel at home. A place where I can feel safe and loved.
I just moved to the city of Solana Beach last week. I got a place at an apartment through a friend who was close to the landlady. The landlady was a nice person as long as you paid your rent on time. I learnt that the hard way. My apartment was fully furnished, and believe me it sounds better than it looks. The supposedly leather sofa is torn at places and stuffed with cigarette butts. I could not even tell the original color of the curtains. And the washing machine has a mind of its own. That was the previous neighbor’s doing. As the land lady put it, that’s what you get when eight bachelors live under one roof. Surprisingly, I did not mind as the view was spectacular. I love to watch when the sky becomes a big spread of indigo as the sun sets. I end up taking tons of photos of it until it took up pretty much all the space in my hard drive.
I returned to the apartment before dawn and turned on my computer. It would be a waste of time trying to sleep when I was already fresh and in the mood for work. I am a journalist by the way, in case I forgot to mention. An investigative journalist. I was investigating on abuse reports and came across a shelter for abused women and their children that was based here, in Santa Monica. When I called the other day, the owner was more than glad to have me pay a visit. Publicity meant more donors anyway and they were running out of money. I never planned on moving here but the heavy traffic in Los Angeles was not doing any good for my stress level. So, within 24 hours, I called up a friend, checked in the deposit and here I was.
I took a quick shower and scoffed a heavily burnt toast and got into my car. It took less than ten minutes to get to the shelter. A crooked sign was hung on the rusting gates of the shelter. It was a bungalow that I imagined, used to be the pride of the owner a couple of decades ago. Moss has taken up residence on one side of the wall and cracks were obvious. I was greeted by a plump woman, Ms. Salina, the owner of the shelter. The house looked better on the inside. There were comfortable looking sofas,
The water was cold and unforgiving against my skin. The night breeze made it worse and I found my teeth chattering and goose bumps started to form all over my body. I was drowning deeper, and deeper into the water and it seemed as if the harder I fight, arms and legs kicking frantically, the deeper I fall into the heart of the ocean. Then, I saw her. It was as if I was staring at a reflection of myself. She had the same almond-shaped eyes, and curly hair that floated around her like a halo. I realize that I was staring at my four-year old self. She waved goodbye and when I reached out for her hand, I felt someone lift me up and out of the freezing ocean. And that was when I woke up.
It was three a.m. I was sweating copiously and shivering under my duvet in the wee hours of the morning. I had that dream again. The one that leaves me breathless and needing huge gulps of air as I felt my lungs would collapse if I did not. I felt emptiness nesting within me as I always have felt all my life. Something was missing and it kills me that I do not know what it is. I suddenly feel that the walls of the room were closing up on me, drowning me of oxygen. I slipped into my Nike sport shoes and headed out the door without a second glance.
There was a full moon and that illuminated my jogging track. The neighborhood was still, all of its residents sleeping peacefully without tossing and turning, unlike me. When I reached the beach, I felt calm and slightly terrified at the same time. The beach reminded me of something that I could not put a finger on and that was what terrifies me. Because I could feel that something important had happened here. Something that was certainly not what you would want to reminisce about. However, the beach also steadied my heartbeat and made me feel at home. A place where I can feel safe and loved.
I just moved to the city of Solana Beach last week. I got a place at an apartment through a friend who was close to the landlady. The landlady was a nice person as long as you paid your rent on time. I learnt that the hard way. My apartment was fully furnished, and believe me it sounds better than it looks. The supposedly leather sofa is torn at places and stuffed with cigarette butts. I could not even tell the original color of the curtains. And the washing machine has a mind of its own. That was the previous neighbor’s doing. As the land lady put it, that’s what you get when eight bachelors live under one roof. Surprisingly, I did not mind as the view was spectacular. I love to watch when the sky becomes a big spread of indigo as the sun sets. I end up taking tons of photos of it until it took up pretty much all the space in my hard drive.
I returned to the apartment before dawn and turned on my computer. It would be a waste of time trying to sleep when I was already fresh and in the mood for work. I am a journalist by the way, in case I forgot to mention. An investigative journalist. I was investigating on abuse reports and came across a shelter for abused women and their children that was based here, in Santa Monica. When I called the other day, the owner was more than glad to have me pay a visit. Publicity meant more donors anyway and they were running out of money. I never planned on moving here but the heavy traffic in Los Angeles was not doing any good for my stress level. So, within 24 hours, I called up a friend, checked in the deposit and here I was.
I took a quick shower and scoffed a heavily burnt toast and got into my car. It took less than ten minutes to get to the shelter. A crooked sign was hung on the rusting gates of the shelter. It was a bungalow that I imagined, used to be the pride of the owner a couple of decades ago. Moss has taken up residence on one side of the wall and cracks were obvious. I was greeted by a plump woman, Ms. Salina, the owner of the shelter. The house looked better on the inside. There were comfortable looking sofas,
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