I use any excuse to walk along the ocean, especially alone and without my phone. The wind blew cold air, but the sun’s warm rays kept my body at a perfect temperature. It was three in the afternoon and I was calm. As I walked down the worn dirt path to the ocean, I was astonished by how many people were lounging by the water.. As I got closer to the water’s edge, I contemplated why more people don 't swim and decide to tan in the sun instead. The feeling of being alone with the ocean and my thoughts played in my mind. Smoothing on my sunscreen, I became aware of a sent, something familiar, something I remembered from a boy I used to know. I had a funny moment where I was playing in my head what would happen if he were to walk up to …show more content…
My toes burrowed into the damp sand and I was relieved to realize that the water was warmer than I had expected. As I stood there and breathed in, deeply, the moist salty air, allowing my heart to fill with the vigor of the ocean and releasing the thoughts of the boy from my past with each exhale, a ball hit my feet and a man ran to get it as his friend yelled “you’re welcome!.” Were they trying to get my attention? I thought as I simply walked away avoiding eye contact with the man who collected the ball. I wandered along the water’s border allowing the water to cooly kiss my feet. the water hit my feet. I smiled as I looked at all of the young surfers attempting to catch the two foot waves. I amused myself by pondering what their future would look like and if I was witnessing the start of a surfing legend. I envied their potential, the years they would have to master their art to acquire their dreams, whatever they may be. Thinking of surfing brought me to think about my brother who is a surfer. I reminisced about the times he and I had sat quietly in the ocean waiting to see that perfect bump in the horizon. He taught me a great lesson in surfing; you don’t always have to pick the first option because there are more opportunities to …show more content…
I believe this is due to comparing myself with other people and my yearning to fit into society 's standards of beauty and good in life. Family is a continuing topic in my head. I think about my siblings or my parents,this is one of my values in life and why it is such a predominant part of my inner thoughts. I believe family became exclusively important when my older brother passed away. I notice a change in my thoughts since that day. When I was thinking about my older brother who is still alive, the surfer, I believe this had a correlation with my deep desire to build a strong relationship with my siblings. I think about art often. My father is an artist as well as my sister. I grew up surrounded by art either in paintings, dance, or art performances I attended at my sister’s high school, the arts academy. My desire to create art must have a root in my childhood, where I was constantly involved in beautiful creations of the human
I liked how the author told me about her family and her background so you almost felt as if you were apart of her family. She explained how both her parents surfed their whole lives and that's where she gets her passion for the sport. She said “Dad loved to surf almost as much as mom. He lived in New Jersey as a boy and surfed all of the time in the summer, then he got older and flew to Hawaii to surf, where he met mom and then they had me and my brothers” (Hamilton 119). This really helped me understand how they ended up living in Hawaii, and why the whole family loved surfing.
As my family and I sped along the coast, the sour smell of sulfur vents and sea salt pungently gusted through my nostrils. My clothes were damp from the constant spray of seawater. My sense of balance was overcome by the sequential hop from wave to wave and – combined with the
The ocean is mysterious to mankind. The unfathomable vastness of the ocean intrigues humanity into exploring it. In life, the immense possibilities that lie in the future compel us to reach for the stars. In the poem “The Story” by Karen Connelly, an individual willingly swims into deep waters even though they are fearful of what may exist in the waters. The swimmer later finds out that their fears were foolish, which illustrates the human tendency to venture into the unknown. The theme conveyed in this poem is that life is like a rough, uncertain, uncontrollable ocean that we must find get through with experience.
I was having a blast, a whole summer being at home with my friends. Until one day I got more that I bargained for.My friend, Caleb, and I were out surfing one day waiting for the tide to start rollin in. Then all of the sudden Caleb as knocked of his board. As I look around all I could see was the icy blue ocean take the appearance of a battle ground. I remember the scream that destroyed my soul. The shaking of the water coming from a man fighting for his life. I remember the words coming out of my mouth “Hey we should go surfing at Buffels bay today, it 's pretty goddamn rad there”. The feeling of guilt that took over my body, along with the fear of what will happen next. I remember the haunting image of a man missing his leg being taken away by the metal angel we call helicopters. A week later Caleb was alive, but was not left untouched like me. He was missing his left leg from the knee down, he was attacked by a great white shark. This was the moment that my life changed. I could never focus on the nightmare inducing screams, but I focused that how incredibly lucky I am to have walked away from this whole event unharmed. I focused on the fact that two months later Caleb was back into the ocean, something I could never
...as I began to walk in the water every imperfection on my body burned as the salt cleansed my skin. Knee high in the Dead Sea and my body even then began to feel weightless- the water carried me. 3 feet deep and no matter how much I tried to touch the bottom, I couldn’t. No one was splashing because if the salt got in your eyes it would be an unbearable burning feeling. For the first time all senior year I felt like I wasn’t in control. I let the water carry me. There wasn’t fear, I didn’t worry about getting carried out to far, nothing lived in the water so no matter how far I went, nothing could pull me under. For the first time all year I wasn’t worried about graduation, finals, or even college. It took me dipping my toes into something big and scary to finally feel relaxed and at peace with myself.
The smell of the restaurants faded and the new, refreshing aroma of the sea salt in the air took over. The sun’s warmth on my skin and the constant breeze was a familiar feeling that I loved every single time we came to the beach. I remember the first time we came to the beach. I was only nine years old. The white sand amazed me because it looked like a wavy blanket of snow, but was misleading because it was scorching hot. The water shone green like an emerald, it was content. By this I mean that the waves were weak enough to stand through as they rushed over me. There was no sense of fear of being drug out to sea like a shipwrecked sailor. Knowing all this now I knew exactly how to approach the beach. Wear my sandals as long as I could and lay spread out my towel without hesitation. Then I’d jump in the water to coat myself in a moist protective layer before returning to my now slightly less hot towel. In the water it was a completely different world. While trying to avoid the occasional passing jellyfish, it was an experience of
The reason I chose surfing to research is because surfing is probably one of the most fun—at least, that’s what it looks like—water sports. Surfing also looks like it’s a very hard sport to master; I mean really, balancing on a snow board is hard enough, but adding water and an infinite amount of waves crashing into your board and knocking you off your balance? I’d rather not. However, I have respect for the surfers of California, Hawaii, Polynesia, and Samoa. How could I not have respect when they’re continually risking their lives through riptides pulling them out to the ocean and drowning them, or getting eaten or torn away from their surfboards by the jaws of a waiting shark? It’s inspiring to see surfers that recover from shark attacks or near-death experiences in the water return to their sport that they love so much and have so much passion for. When a dancer has such emotion in their performances, and when an artist conveys their feelings to the blank canvas, it’s the same as a surfer conversing with the waves on their board. It’s a very passionate feeling they have for their sport, and it’s very inspiring to see the athletes perform as they do when they surf.
There is a guy from Hawaii that I know. Every day, he wakes up, straps his surfboards to the racks on top of his car, drives his car from a town called Ewa, across the island of Oahu, to a little beach known as Ala Moana Beach Park. He does all of this even before the sun comes up. He spends a few minutes just looking at the ocean, watching and surveying the waves and how they break. As soon as the sun makes its first peek over the horizon, he grabs a board, waxes it up, and jumps in the water. He then paddles his board through what many people call a journey: two hundred yards of dark cold water, blistering currents, and waves pushing back against each stroke made to push forward. He makes this journey to get to a point right past where all the waves break, to a point called the line-up. It’s here, where he waits for a wave that he catches back towards the shore, only to make the journey back through all the cold harsh currents and waves again. He catches a few waves, and then catches one all the way back to shore, where he showers, gets dressed and then goes off to work.
From there I rolled down to the boardwalk. I sat, alone, watching the ocean waves crash against the shore. While I watched the sun slowly set on the ocean. The waves were pounding the shore with the rhythm of my beating heart. I was beginning to realize the ramifications of living in a wheelchair, no dancing; no high heels; no hiking; no beach-combing. The waves rise up, curl, then crash; drawing back into the sea. With each crash, it seemed to pull a piece of my life out to sea, no more. . . no more. ...
Its Malcolm’s last day in L.A. and the final time I’ll ride in his rented mini-cooper. The fog smothers our faces. I close my eyes and hear the motor roar. We find parking on PCH and walk to Surfrider beach. We find a quiet spot on the sand. I watch as Malcolm suits up, picks up his rented surfboard and paddles beyond the breakers. The waves are above average this morning.
Walking on a land of gold, the sand being so soft and smooth, glistens as it reflects the suns rays with joy. Cool, light and refreshing, the breeze gently eases up against my skin and glides through my hair, sending a gentle shiver up my spine. The rustling of leaves, small array of birds and delicate splashes of the sea are amazingly soothing and relaxing. The whole beach itself looks like a painted picture with a spectrum of colours all merged with one another. The sea also showing off a wide range of colours that reflects of the surface, like a dancing peacock showing off its finely detailed feathers.
At first the shock of the water is electric and thrilling. I plunge deep down into the cold water momentarily held in by it’s belly. The water envelope’s my skin and there’s a brief silence that I find calming where everything stops, thought’s stop, it’s only me in the deep blue water; an empty envelope that doesn’t need to think, to move, to talk, or to explain. My mind respond’s to the feeling of being underwater. The bone-crushing pressure of gallons upon gallons of water, the way my lungs feel like their suffocated, and bursting. The way my brain beats pounding on my skull, the way my heart almost jumps out of my skin with the adrenalin rush I’m experiencing along the way. As I fight for the surface all while feeling void and alone with merely only all my thoughts amplified to their fullest extent that merges with the water, with not drowning being the loudest of noises and then I submerge with a huge gasp for air. I’m breathing, I’m fine and I’m very much alive. After coming to my senses I swim back to shore, all of us are laughing and joking about how stupid, reckless and brave we are. It was the best night that we’d never forget, a night that lets us all live our lives’ fearlessly and forever that night would stay in our memories not for the company but for everything we felt that
When I was 5 years old, Dad woke me up one morning and informed me that he was finally going to teach me how to surf. I was ecstatic. I used to watch my brothers in envy as I crouched on the damp sand with my head between my hands resting on my knees, sulking at the fact that I wasn’t allowed to surf until I was 5.
But we did go on the boardwalk almost every night. Every night seemed to be different. We tried to experience everything in a different way. Coastal Highway, not unlike the ocean, seems to go on endlessly. When we were near Coastal Highway, I put my window down and let the smell of the sand and sea waft into the car. The rain had started, but it was only a light mist. The temperature had cooled off now too. I decided to take an evening swim. Some of the waves were raising nearly 10 feet. In the evening when we all entered the beach some lifeguards were announcing that tides are so strong. Though I was not
I wandered around the path near the lake because it was always peaceful and quiet there in the morning and the trees that hung over the wide walkway only drew me in more. The cool wind blew continuously, and some of the leaves that barely hung on to the branches were pulled along with it. They floated while dropping slowly, and one of the leaves chose my head as a landing spot. I brushed my hair with my hand, not caring if doing so messes up my hair, since the wind already accomplished that job the second I took a step outside my house.