The Ocean.

For the waves crash so gracefully, they build to break, then pull back again to break again. The waves carry with them the sand of a thousand years, the shells abandoned by the sea life, the washed up coral soon to be taken for souvenirs across the globe.  The sea in the winter has a different ambience than the sea in the summer. The winter brings a new meaning to the beach, to the sands, to the crashing waves.  The winter brings a metaphor that I'm still trying to understand. 

The wrecking of a busy ocean, the crashing of violent waves, the splashing against rock cliffs, the salt in the cold air, the empty yet full sound. It all has a contradictory calmness, like the threat of the vicious winter ocean brings a mystifying solace. 

I was never fond of the bodies that would flock to the sands hours away under the scorching Australian sun. The busy beaches of the summer would fill me with an uncomfortable anxiety, the beaches I had spent many hours, thoughts, smiles, and tears on during the winter had become a safe haven only to be taken away during the warmer months.  You could probably call it selfishness of the Summer.

Throughout my travels people always ask me where home is, for ease of conversation I tell them Queensland, Australia. But there are so many different types of Home to me. The home where my parents are, the home where I was born, the home I find in another person. The home where I can be my best, my worst, and my most honest. The beach.

I remember my earliest childhood memories at the black sands, the white drift wood, the dunes that looked so big I begged my Uncle to teach me how to climb them.  The walk from my Nana's door, through the river mouth and onto the horizon where the cold New Zealand winds would cut at my skin. My favourite place to be in the world. The place where I can be a mixture of happy and sad and empty and so full of life all at the same time.  I never really understood why I always had this feeling that I needed to be there, regardless of where I was in the world.


It's like no matter what is going on in the world around me, the harsh fresh yet cold air, the salt knotting my curls together, the way the sand feels like the softest ice, everything for a moment feels invincible. Everything is fixable, everything in the world feels balanced.

I recently found myself at a beach in Wales, climbing over the cliffs instead of the footpath, the wind forcing my hair into my face. I felt so carefree, like if I slipped on the rocks it wouldn't matter, if I fell in the water it wouldn't matter, if I made a fool of myself in front of all these people it wouldn't matter because I was at the beach. I was doing my own thing. I had an unusual feeling of happiness, of contentness.  It was welcoming to not be scared on this side of the world for a short while.

Always,
em.



This has been an instalment for the Project:Box Flat. Photos taken 21st June 2015 Barry Island, Wales.