Life Of Two In Asia. Day 13. Phu Quoc.

As I am starting to write this, a drop of water is sliding down my lemonade glass. It’s hot but windy, I am shamelessly wearing my swimming suit and sunglasses while sitting at the bar.
This post will be about childhood memories and the sea.

It’s all about the waves, man, all about the waves.

After having witnessed sunset at the beach, we decided to come back the next day for a proper swim. And that’s what we did. The sea was wavy and restless. There were barely any people around, the beach was almost clean.

Hadn’t it been for my bathing suit which I kept on losing after every wave, the whole thing would have been perfect. It was such a great feeling to face the waves again, after so many years or draught.

It reminded me of childhood.

We, myself and my brother, used to go to the beach often, with other kids (my mom used to fill the car with our neighbor’s kids) or with relatives who remembered we existed only during summer time. I would spend hours in the water, till my lips grew blue. I’d swim, goof around, make holes or sand castles. However, my favorite time were those slightly windy days, maybe a bit cloudy too, towards the end of the season.

The sea was mine then. And she was shaking off all tourists. I’d go up to my waist in the water and wait for the perfect wave. And that was a wave which hadn’t broken yet but was tall enough to lift my feet a meter off the bottom of the sea. It would carry me with it for a bit and I felt like flying.

In the quest for the perfect wave, I’d swallow a lot of water from all the broken waves, I’d be pinned to the bottom by some unusually strong one (I almost drowned once), sometimes I’d even almost lose my bathing suit (pretty much like now). But it would all be worth it.

After what would feel like a few moments, but it would actually be hours, some grown-up would come to fish me out of the water, my lips all blue, like I said. I’d crawl under a towel, maybe eat a juicy peach, my hands would get sticky from its juice. Some time later I’d realise that it’s actually the salty sea that makes me sticky, not just the juice.

I’d go home exhausted and fight to keep my eyes open and wash off the sand first. Then I’d crush on the couch under a cool cotton sheet, waiting for dinner.

That was it. The encounter with the wavy sea made me realise something. Everywhere I go, the sea of my childhood will always follow me. My dear Black Sea.

Thanks for reading! Good night, friends, wherever you are!

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