When I was young at the beach, I remember the longing for shade. I remember the sun not shining until I stepped on the beach. I remember the sky being utterly blue with clouds so big and fluffy. The water was a darker shade of the sky, but always moving with the wind. And people, so many people, sat their bright sun umbrellas up to shield away the burning star. It smelled fresh around me. Everything felt alive.

When I was young at the beach, I remember stepping in the water, noticing how the level was shallow, then deep, then shallow again the longer I walked from shore. I remember the feeling of the cool water drifting all around me in small waves, the feeling of little wet minerals beneath, and between my toes, the feeling of my bathing suit clinging to my body. I remember the water getting warmer the longer I stayed in, the longer I splashed and laughed with my family.

When I was young at the beach, I felt amusement. My cousins and I played a game of who can hold their breath underwater the longest. I remember it being unclear who won because we all cheated, but playing that game always made me feel energized. I remember feeling tired sometimes, but all I needed was to step away from the water and drink a cool glass of water myself. I remember being refreshed with the cold water on my tongue and the heated wind whipping around to reassure me that all was joyful.

I remember that before leaving the beach, my family and I stopped to get ice cream. The flavour I got was French Vanilla, my favourite and the flavour I would always get. I remember sitting in the car, the ice cream, cold, creamy and fair, melting on my tongue with each bite I took. The car ride home was long and steady. I was exhausted and my body sore, but what kept me alert was my snack and thoughts of the day that went by. I remember clutching my ice cream cup and wondering when I would experience the beach again.