somewhere in the sugarcane #worlduchinanchuday

I remember how my baachan brushed my hair back and told me to stay close to the shore before letting me run off into the waves. How the salt in the air tasted sweet, and the water was cool and clear around me. How my cousins all laughed as they splashed each other, and my brother dove down to grab starfish and sea cucumbers.

We'd all turn golden under the sun, its gentle rays watching over us as we kicked up sand and raced hermit crabs. It was always simple then, when we were kids.

And my baachan was always there, while the other adults were out buying lunch and drinks for the rest of us.

I remember this often, those blissful summers, when all the world was narrowed down onto one little island and its quiet streets.

The desert air is dry, and the sun is unforgiving. Though I call this place home, I long for the water and wind that raised me. All the mountains here tower over me, remind me how small and easily forgotten we all are. The ocean was always kinder, showing us the life she sheltered beneath the waves and cradling us close as we learned how to swim.

We've all moved away now, scattered across the world. My grandparents spend most of their days alone, in a house that's gotten emptier over the years and their fading memories keeping them company. They call when they can, and often their words slip past me, unfamiliar, as I try to wrap my tongue around the sounds I grew up singing.

Had life been kinder, I would be on that beach again, feet in the sand and face turned to the sun. The sugar cane would line the roads back to my family, and I'd collect seashells in liue of kisses to give them.

The desert traps me in its vastness, but in my dreams, I go home.