The Beach-Personal Narrative

695 Words2 Pages

Cool, course sand is padded beneath my feet. My toes bury themselves under the sand as if it were a blanket. The light, icy breeze of the sea frisks playfully up my legs leaving chills and raised hairs in its path. I can taste the sweet perfume of the salty air. My eyebrows furrow as I soak up the radiant summer sun. It envelops my skin in a warm embrace as if it hadn't seen me in ages. A glistening sheen of sweat cools my shirtless torso, highlighting the contours of my body. Running my hands through my salty hair, I look out to the majestic and mysterious body of water before me, wondrously blue. I listen to the steady, rhythmical crashing of the waves; the rustling of the palm leaves in the wind; the calls of the birds, soaring through …show more content…

The map to my heart lies within the cerulean sea. If the destination is the happiness of my heart, then the beach is the journey. My love for the ocean was instilled in me at a young age. My parents used to take me to the beach when I could barely even count the number of sea shells in the palms of my mother's hands. When I got a little older, my parents always enjoyed a good laugh and would tell me I was born from sea foam, and that I had seawater for blood. I only believed them for a couple years. When I think about it, it makes sense why my family loves the water so much. My grandfather was born and raised on the coasts of Cuba while my grandmother was born and raised in Puerto Rico. While my grandfather came to America to escape the communist, Fidel Castro, and my grandmother came for greater opportunities, they both came for the same reasons of having a better life. I guess being close to the ocean just reminds my family of …show more content…

The reason for that is because it carries truth. I consider the beach my "home" because that is where the map to my heart takes me. When I am standing at the beach, my soul goes on a journey. I look out and see the delicacy and craftsmanship of the ecosystem which surrounds me. I see the intricate details of the flowers and the trees and the birds and the fish, and how they all interact with each other in a way that is perfect. I see the way the sun breaks through the clouds in glorious beams. I see the waves, the way they tumble and break, and yet form again and again. The consistency of the waves reminds me slightly of myself: no matter how far away they are from land or how long it takes for them to travel to it, they always find their way back to the shore. They always find their way back to the warm, welcoming sand of the beach; almost like even the waves have a map leading them there. Like I have a map leading me

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