Ebbtide Reckonings

Loosed from the minor dissertation cage the sun finally struck my face. Sharp chill, light breeze, but still a good day for walking. I strolled down to Ocean Beach littered with its usual debris. Recently I have admired the large imposing beauty of the crows that seem to have overrun the sandy terrain here. The sand dollar pieces line the shore and I recall my childhood days scooping up the whole ones and toting them back home. I would sit on the backyard steps and use my markers to bleed splotches of color on them, creating a riotous tye-dye effect.

Staring at the waves, grayed by an overcast sky, I thought of those things slowly receding from us, our days on earth, vibrant memories, people who have touched us but whose own recession drains into another sea. And yet, these things have a way of coming back, messages in bottles washing back to the island we sent them from.

That day, a few messages came back, yellowed by time, meanings changed. I realized I was wearing my elementary school graduation t-shirt "Lakeshore 94" which used to reach to my knees and now was perfect length. And I was wearing jeans I had gotten for free from my best friend when we were 13. I still fit them, even if they are a bit snugger.

From the beach, I walked to the park and found myself at the playground I grew up playing in. I immediately went to the swings, and among all the little children delighted myself with reaching heights that still manage to be exhilarating. Dismounting, I walked further on through the park, and noticing that there was no one around, blasted Otis Redding in my headphones, dancing about in the wide open, but in my own private moment of happiness.

The tension of the past year all seemed to be released. The stress and the enjoyment both were so heavy, still waiting to be processed. Suspended by the need to feverishly finish the culmination of three years of work and planning, there was no release, no real homecoming. And until that day, I could not begin to let go. Now I could permit the great Pacific to carry away all the weightiness. Though it shall come back to me in other forms in other times, and I hope I will be able to meet it all with both sagacity and freshness, strutting forward through the park, a soulful man's voice ringing in my ears, but still wearing the uniform of days long gone I could not think of any better way to begin the reckoning.

I have maintained for a while that temporality is not linear. The artificial bookend of my year in Cape Town has supposedly come to a close, but somehow, I know that just as old pairs of jeans from adolescence still have some wear left in them, the time and memories will keep circling back through the currents.